


I'm Here Now

by shions_heart



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Slavery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m here now. I’m here. Everything is going to be all right.”</p><p>Haruka had almost given up hope that he would ever see Makoto again. Now they’ve been reunited, but he wonders if the feelings he expressed the night before they were separated will be reciprocated after four years apart.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4229799/chapters/9566790">Blue Lotus, White Lotus</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Past is Another Land

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I'm back already with another fic that might hurt you, ahaha. I'm so overwhelmed and grateful for all the love Blue Lotus, White Lotus has received, and I hope you enjoy this small companion piece as well! You probably need to have read BLWL in order to fully understand everything in here.
> 
> Warning: this deals with pretty dark themes (mentions of pedophila, discussions of past abuse/rape, panic attacks, etc.) so if any of that will trigger you, please do not read this! Take care of yourself first. <3
> 
> (Also I'm trying out a different style with this one, since it's going to take on a slightly non-linear narrative, I thought it fit better.)

Haruka feels as though he can register his heartbeat for the first time in four years. Ever since that day he was literally torn from Makoto, he felt as though he’d died and become a husk of himself. Truthfully, he barely felt a thing the first time the prince took him, and everything he did to him after that rarely registered. He felt as though he were floating outside himself, watching everything from that safe distance, never quite understanding the weight of the situation.

It was only when Rin threatened to do the same things to Makoto that Haruka had snapped back into his body. He didn’t realize how painful it would be until after he was flung from Rin’s bed by his bodyguard and lay panting on the floor, his body shuddering.

His body trembles now, at the memory of it, and he tightens his grip around Makoto’s neck, focusing on the soothing circles the other man is rubbing against his spine.

“Are you all right, Haru?” Makoto asks softly, his voice near Haruka’s ear.

Haruka nods silently, not about to tell Makoto what he’d been remembering. He doesn’t want to share any of those horrors with his friend. He knows Makoto will only apologize, and that will make things worse. Because Makoto has no reason to apologize, none of it was his fault.

“We should probably rest here for the night,” Rei says, pulling up his horse beside Makoto and Haruka’s. Nagisa seems ready to fall asleep, and Haruka can tell how dangerous that would be, seeing as Rei doesn’t have an arm to keep Nagisa upright in the saddle.

He’s still getting used to the sight of Rei without his right arm and has to actively keep himself from staring.

The pink-haired one, Kisumi, halts as they do, glancing between them all before looking toward the closest inn. Haruka isn’t entirely sure what he thinks of the newcomer. He seems pleasant enough, but he doesn’t like the glances he keeps sending Makoto’s way. His eyes seem to hold a little _too_ much affection.

Haruka reminds himself that Makoto isn’t his, not in that way, so it shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

“I take it I’m not going to be able to room with you anymore, eh Makoto?” Kisumi asks with a wink.

Makoto’s hand pauses on Haruka’s back.

Haruka frowns.

“Oh! I suppose if we got a large room we could all fit,” Makoto muses. “That way we don’t need to split up.”

Haruka leans back, about to protest, but then he notices that Makoto is looking toward Nagisa, and he understands. Biting his lip, he reaches back to grasp the edge of the saddle, as Makoto lowers himself from the horse. He lifts his arms then, and Haruka grabs hold of them, allowing Makoto’s hands to encircle his waist and lift him off the horse to set him on the ground before him.

“You’ve grown so thin, Haru,” he murmurs worriedly, and his hands linger on Haruka’s waist, until Haruka steps back out of reach, trying to ignore the heat that’s spreading through him.

Rei glances toward them. “Makoto-san, can you help me with him?” he asks, nodding toward the dozing Nagisa, who starts to slip sideways off the saddle.

“Ack!” Makoto leaps forward to catch Nagisa, who awakes with a start.

“Mako-chan? You’re still here?” He blinks wide magenta eyes at Makoto’s face, his expression one of awe.

Haruka knows how he feels.

“Of course I’m still here,” Makoto says with a fond smile that tears through Haruka’s heart. “I’m never going to leave you again, I promise.”

Nagisa smiles, resting his head against Makoto’s shoulder. Rei and Kisumi dismount, and the five of them make their way to the inn. The innkeeper looks skeptical when they request a single room, the largest one he has, but when Rei dangles one of Nagisa’s jeweled earrings in front of him, he greedily snatches it up and leads them to a suite which is separated into two sections, and each holds a large bed.

“I want to sleep with Rei-chan,” Nagisa murmurs sleepily into Makoto’s kaftan.

“Naturally,” Kisumi says, which earns a soft chuckle from Makoto, as Rei flushes.

Makoto moves toward the bed in the first room, gently laying Nagisa on it, watching with a small, affectionate smile, as the boy turns on his side and curls into a ball. Rei wastes no time in climbing onto the bed beside him, and the other three quietly file into the next room.

They stare down at the bed before them, an awkward silence descending. Haruka looks over at Makoto, frowning as the taller man refuses to meet his gaze. Kisumi, apparently deciding to throw caution to the wind, jumps up onto the bed, spreading out with a contented sigh.

“You should feel how soft this mattress is, Makoto,” he says with a smirk that makes Haruka want to punch him.

Instead, he simply yanks a pillow out from underneath Kisumi’s head, ignoring his yelp. Taking it to the window, he sets it on the floor.

“Haru?”

Makoto’s tentative voice follows him, and for a moment Haruka pauses, glancing over his shoulder briefly at his friend.

“I’m used to it,” he says, perhaps a little colder than he meant to.

Fighting the unpleasant squirming in his stomach, he lays down on the floor with his back to the bed, where he can hear Kisumi shifting. Then comes Makoto’s voice, low and somewhat exasperated, followed by what sounds like an apology from Kisumi. Haruka tries his best to block it out, wondering why he thought things would pick up where they left off from the last time he saw Makoto. Of course Makoto would have moved on. It’d been four years, after all, and Makoto had never truly shown interest in Haruka in that way.

Aside from that kiss . . .

That Haruka initiated.

_I’m an idiot._

“Haru?”

There it was again, a soft but persistent voice, curling through his mind, wrapping around him and filling him with warmth. It’s not what he wants, and yet he finds his heart melting despite his inner protests, his attempts to stay aloof.

“Haru, Kisumi says he’ll sleep on the floor. Come to bed.”

Haruka suppresses a shiver. Why did he have to say it in _that_ particular way? With a quiet hopefulness that tugs at Haruka’s chest. He curls his knees to his chest.

“It’s too much effort now,” he says lightly, shrugging one shoulder.

He hears a very distinct, very familiar sigh, and then the wooden panels beneath him tremor slightly, as a warm body settles behind him.

“I’ll just sleep here on the floor with you then,” Makoto says.

“Ha, I get this glorious bed to myself then!” Kisumi crows happily. “Enjoy your night of stiff necks and aching muscles.”

Haruka clenches his jaw, but then Makoto’s hand is on his arm, tugging him gently. At the silent request, Haruka turns, looking into Makoto’s face. His breath hitches without his consent. He’d forgotten how beautiful Makoto’s eyes are, how lovely his smile. Without truly meaning to, he lifts his hand, running a finger down the curve of Makoto’s nose.

He traces the lines of Makoto’s lips, moving his fingers then to push the hair back from Makoto’s forehead, his thumb brushing against eyebrows and eyelids, along flushed cheekbones. His eyes follow his progress, so he doesn’t immediately notice Makoto’s smile. When he does, he pauses, biting his lip as he pulls his hand back.

“You don’t have to stop,” Makoto says quietly. “Are you memorizing me by heart?”

“I already know you by heart,” Haruka breathes, before the embarrassment at such a sentimental statement catches him, and he ducks his head.

Makoto chuckles softly, pressing a light kiss to Haruka’s forehead. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Missed you too,” Haruka murmurs, but the words aren’t enough. Words can never be enough, which is why he struggles, wanting to express the overwhelming emotions he feels, crashing, surging, _burning_ , but he can’t.

Makoto’s arm slides around him, pulling him close, and their foreheads touch. Haruka’s quivering, but Makoto closes his eyes, exhaustion taking hold. Gradually, Haruka stills, gaze studying the face before him, the face he’d never thought he’d see again.

He remembers the first time he saw that face.

 

***

 

The soldiers sacked his village completely, burning his family’s home to the ground, along with the houses of his neighbors. Even at eight years old, Haruka knew it was his fault. The island colony had been small, but fierce, and when the natives learned that the soldiers had come for one of their own, they revolted against them. But there’d been too many soldiers, and not enough weapons among the natives, and in the end they were destroyed.

Haruka could only watch with eyes wide with shock, too stunned to feel anything beside a growing numbness, beginning in his chest and spreading over his body. He saw the figures of his mother, her long hair tangled about her face, and his father, eyeglasses cracked and crooked on his nose. They lay on the floor with holes in their chest where the soldier’s sword had run them through.

“Mama? Papa?”

He had tried to wake them up, shaking them, calling for them. But the soldiers grabbed him and threw him onto one of their wagons, taking him back to their ship. Haruka watched his home burn, an icy cold hand taking his heart, gripping.

_I won’t cry. I won’t let them see me cry._

When the ship arrived at the bay, the soldiers were met with others from Makuria, and another wagon stood on the pier, this one full of boys around his own age. Haruka regarded them with little interest. They all had teary eyes and runny noses, but what could he possibly say to comfort them? He didn’t even know how to comfort himself.

He was placed inside the wagon and took a seat near the back, curling his legs up to his chest and hugging them tightly, observing the other boys with bright blue eyes. The wagon lurched forward with the sound of a cracking whip, the horses beginning their trek. As they did, one of the boys looked up, meeting Haruka’s gaze on accident. His nose was running like the rest of them, green eyes wide and wet.

Haruka stared back at him impassively, feeling nothing.

The boy inched forward slowly, almost as though he were approaching a wild rabbit in the forest. His movements were cautious, his expression open and curious.

“You’re not crying,” he said, his Nekoran accent slightly different than the one Haruka was used to on the island. It was huskier, though not unpleasant.

Haruka blinked, not sure if the boy was asking him a question or just stating a fact.

“Are you all right?” the boy asked then, concern for Haruka shining through his expression with such honesty that it startled Haruka.

He could only gape at him, not sure how to respond. If he replied that he was not all right, then the boy might want to know what had happened. But if he said that he _was_ all right, that would be a blatant lie. So in the end he said nothing, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“My name is Makoto,” the boy said then, sniffling and wiping his nose on the back of his arm. “It’s all right to cry, if you want to. Nobody will tease you for it.”

But Haruka didn’t feel like crying. He didn’t feel anything. It was disconcerting, but how did one express a lack of emotions? Or, no, it wasn’t exactly a lack. It was more like a deep hole had been carved into his being, the emptiness stark and bare. He had nothing with which to fill that hole, so he just kept it open, and it lay like an ache on his chest, dull and persistent. It felt as though the hole was consuming him, not _allowing_ him to feel anything other than that cold detachment.

Makoto’s eyes filled with tears again, startling Haruka. He watched, as the tears slipped from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks in steady streams. He reached out, touching the liquid with the tips of his fingers. The water slid over his skin, warm and almost comforting in a way.

“Why are you crying?” he asked finally, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“B-because you’re n-not,” Makoto said, giving him a wavering smile. “You just . . . you look so sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

_I’m . . . What am I?_

_Empty?_

_Broken?_

_Dead?_

But he couldn’t be dead, because he could feel his heart beating, and it started to pound faster, as Makoto reached forward and enveloped him in a tight hug. This was unexpected, and Haruka squeaked softly, causing Makoto to pull back quickly.

“I-I’m sorry. Did you not like that?”

Haruka swallowed, looking at this boy before him, his expression so honest and vulnerable. So concerned for _him_. Didn’t Makoto have his own reasons to cry? Had he not been taken from his home, same as Haruka? Same as the other boys? So why would he waste his tears on Haruka, a complete stranger? It didn’t make sense.

“You’re strange.”

Makoto smiled faintly, nudging aside the boy next to Haruka, settling down beside him. “I just . . . don’t want you to be alone.” He held out his hand, palm up, between them.

Haruka looked down at it, not sure what he was supposed to do with it. Makoto didn’t tell him what to do, simply watched him, unguarded and expectant.

_How can you be so friendly and open? Are you not hurting same as me?_

“Haruka.”

Makoto blinked. “Huh?”

“My name. Haruka.”

Makoto smiled, actually smiled, and Haruka found himself staring once more, a warm feeling trickling through the numb shield, wrapping around him, comforting him. It was as though the sun itself had descended upon them, concealing itself in Makoto’s smile. His eyes prickled, but he ignored that, finally placing his hand in Makoto’s. The other boy squeezed it gently, and the tenderness of the gesture sent another beam of sunlight through the hole inside him.

For the first time since he watched his parents fall, Haruka wondered if perhaps he might actually be all right.

 

Makoto did most of the talking throughout their journey to Makuria. Haruka often found himself watching Makoto’s lips, waiting for that flash of a smile that would send that jolt of warmth through him. He sat quietly, and Makoto never pushed him to talk, instead telling him stories of his own family, of his life on the horse farm, where his parents were breeders. He spoke of his twin younger siblings, of how adorable they were, and how they often got into trouble.

Haruka gathered they were still alive, and he felt a form of resentment toward them for willingly giving up such a boy as Makoto. How anyone would want to part with this ray of sunshine puzzled him. They’d only known each other for a few weeks, and already Haruka didn’t want to part from him.

What started as curiosity and fascination soon grew to affection, and he found himself referring to Makoto as his friend in his mind when he thought of him. The other boys that had been captured seemed lost in their own stages of grief, but Makoto’s warmth soon spread through them as well, and Makoto’s stories usually garnered an audience. Sometimes, at night, he would sing Nekoran lullabies to help lull the boys to sleep, easing them gently into dreams of happiness and love. Even a few of the soldiers began to look upon Makoto with unusual fondness, and every once in a while they would slip him extra rations.

Makoto always gave them to Haruka, but Haruka never took them until Makoto agreed that they would share.

There was one soldier, however, whom Haruka could instantly tell was a bad person. He sneered whenever one of the boys began crying, and he liked to taunt them, calling them barbarian children, scaring them with tales of what would happen to them once they reached their destination. He spoke of how Makurians fed disobedient children to their dogs, of how they’d be slaves and would have to do anything their masters said, even if it included drinking their piss.

The other soldiers seemed weary of him, but none of them did anything about his jeers, other than a simple request here or there to stop frightening the boys. But the soldier would simply laugh. He was young, perhaps nineteen or twenty, with a pockmarked face and limp black hair. At first Haruka’s emotions towards him consisted of faint irritation.

That was until he dared to lay a hand on Makoto.

They’d stopped in a small town, gathering the boys into a single room in an inn, while the rest of the soldiers spread out in various other rooms, only one standing watch outside the boys’ room. Makoto began to make his rounds, tucking each boy in with such fondness that Haruka felt a sting of annoyance, wondering why everyone should get such special treatment when _he_ was the one who knew Makoto best.

(Though he still didn’t know the story behind Makoto’s capture, but that was irrelevant. It was clear that Makoto liked _him_ best, so he didn’t understand why Makoto felt the need to show affection to _everyone_.)

Makoto was brushing his fingers through the hair of one of the smaller boys, singing softly to help him sleep, when the door burst open and the pockmarked soldier came stumbling into the room. He reeked of something foul that Haruka didn’t recognize, and he walked unsteadily, small eyes fixed on Makoto.

Haruka’s heart leapt into his throat, as the soldier grabbed Makoto’s shoulder, jerking him to his feet. “You have a pretty little mouth,” he slurred, his other hand moving to squeeze Makoto’s cheeks, leaning in close until their faces were inches apart. “Tell me, can it do more than sing?”

Makoto’s eyes were wide, complete terror written in every facet of his expression. Haruka didn’t stop to think of whether or not it was the smart thing to do. He launched himself through the air, kicking the back of the man’s knee with such force that the entire room winced at the loud crack.

The soldier dropped to the floor, howling in pain. Haruka disregarded this, hurrying instead to Makoto’s side, wrapping his arms protectively around him. He could feel Makoto trembling, and he glared at the soldier, eyes hard as flints.

“Don’t you touch him ever again!” he exclaimed shrilly, tempted to kick at the soldier’s face as well.

But the other soldiers had heard the commotion and came running into the room. They stared at the man writhing on the floor, clutching his leg, before turning their gazes onto the two boys who stood trembling, one in fright, the other in rage.

“What happened here?” one of the older soldiers asked, a tired looking man whose name Haruka couldn’t remember.

“The kid attacked me!” the pockmarked soldier whined from his place on the ground. “I think he broke my leg!”

Haruka didn’t attempt to defend himself, simply glared at all those present, tightening his grip on Makoto. As long as his friend was safe, he didn’t care what happened to himself.

“He just attacked you for no reason?” the older man asked, looking skeptical.

“Yeeeees.”

“Um, excuse me, sir,” a timid voice spoke, and they all turned to look at a young boy with black hair that fell low over his eyes. “That man was scaring Mako-kun. He grabbed him. Haru-kun was only protecting him.”

The rest of the room nodded in agreement, soft murmurs whispering assent. The soldier on the floor looked furious, face bright red with anger.

“That’s a _lie_ ,” he spat.

The older soldier took in Makoto’s pale face, studying it a moment before looking into Haruka’s flat expression of contempt and anger. He considered a moment, before nodding.

“I believe them. You’ve always been a nasty son of a bitch, Ottawa, and I have no issue with returning you to base. Pack your things.”

“You’ll believe these barbarian children over me?!” Ottawa growled angrily, hopping up onto his good leg.

“Yes.”

Seething, Ottawa shot Haruka a look full of venom, which was returned with such force that the young man could do nothing but hop away in disgrace.

Once everyone had settled back for the night, Makoto didn’t leave Haruka’s side, but instead lay beside him, pulling a single blanket to cover the both of them. Haruka allowed this, knowing it was probably safer for Makoto anyway.

“Thank you, Haru-chan,” Makoto said softly, and the honorific made Haruka’s neck feel hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t call me ‘-chan’,” he murmured, before rolling over and closing his eyes.

Makoto’s forehead pressed against his back, and it took Haruka a disturbingly long time to fall to sleep.

 

They arrived at their destination, a long squat building that houses several dozen other boys ranging in age from eight to sixteen years. Standing at the front gate to meet them was a man with blonde hair and a brown goatee. He introduced himself as Goro Sasabe, and he informed them that he was to be their instructor and teacher from now on, until they reached the age of sixteen and were given their permanent positions. They would either become palace staff for the royal family or be drafted into the army.

Haruka reached for Makoto’s hand, but found his friend had had the same idea. They met in the middle, fingers tangling together and gripping tightly. They were led inside and taken to a room full of mats, told that it would be their new sleeping quarters. They were each given a mat and the older boys instructed them to find a place to lay them out.

Makoto glanced around the room, attempting to find a suitable place. Against the wall, nestled in a corner, stood a small pond, a stream of water falling from the mouth of a lion head jutting from the wall. Inside the pond, tiny fish swam back and forth, darting about aimlessly.

He strode over, and Haruka followed closely, laying his mat directly beside Makoto’s in front of the pond. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare into the water, his chest aching as he remembered the beaches along the edges of his island.

“Haru?” Makoto’s voice came soft and concerned, and Haruka looked over at him with a questioning glance. “Are you all right?”

Haruka tilted his head, looking back at the fish. He knelt beside the pond, trailing his fingers in the water and allowing the fish to tickle his skin. Looking up at Makoto, he allowed a tiny smile. Makoto smiled back, radiant as always.

“We’ll stick together, you and me,” Makoto insisted, kneeling in front of Haruka, small hands clenching into fists at his knees. “I won’t leave your side, I promise.”

The warmth trickled back into his stomach, heating the back of his neck. But he can’t help but nod, his smile widening. He knew that if he had Makoto, he’d be all right. Because he wouldn’t be alone, and maybe that would be enough to help get him through whatever came next.

 

Over the next two years Makoto stuck by his promise, never leaving Haruka by himself unless he absolutely needed to. It quickly became known that Makoto and Haruka refused to be separated, and thankfully Sasabe didn’t seem to have a problem with always keeping the two of them together during their different training regimes. Every day they began with a standard sword training class, to hone and shape muscle as well as prepare them in case they were chosen for the battlefield, followed by classes covering different forms of entertainment: dance, music, song, art, story-telling and, for some reason, flattery and seduction.

It made Haruka uncomfortable, the way he was required to sway his hips as he walked, to smile and laugh enchantingly. He could never get that particular part correct, though Makoto was a natural. Many in the class complimented him on the ease with which he flirted and smiled disarmingly. It caused an uneasiness to grow in Haruka’s chest, and he barely registered Sasabe’s exasperation with him.

“Haruka, you’re a natural beauty,” the man said, taking him aside one day. “But you need to learn to loosen up. You need to smile more. Be _charming_.”

“Why?” Haruka asked flatly, staring up at his teacher without defiance, just simple confusion. What was the point to all this?

“If you’re to become a concubine, you have to know how to compliment and beguile people,” Sasabe tried to explain.

“What’s a concubine?”

Sasabe sputtered for a moment, before sighing. “Look, just . . . try to be more like Makoto. He doesn’t have your looks, but he’s charismatic and that’s what the king will be looking for.”

But Haruka didn’t know how to be like Makoto. While the other boy talked to others with ease and friendliness, Haruka found himself disinterested in the rest of the boys there. He didn’t want to smile at them or get to know them. He wouldn’t know what to say even if he did.

Besides, he didn’t want the king to be interested in him. He simply wanted to spend his days with Makoto, no matter what they did together.

Sasabe grew more and more frustrated with Haruka’s lack of motivation, but there wasn’t anything Haruka wanted to learn, so he simply didn’t apply himself. Makoto started to whine at him, to worry that if Haruka didn’t start trying, they might send Haruka away.

This fear of separation made Haruka approach Sasabe with a quiet “I like to draw,” to which the man lit up and immediately placed the necessary equipment in front of Haruka.

He stared down at the blank parchment for a long moment, having no idea what to sketch. But a quick glance at Makoto across the room, smiling and laughing with a couple other boys, made the decision for him. He carefully drew Makoto’s face, already knowing the lines of it, the way his smile curved, the brightness of his eyes.

Sasabe watched in wonder, as Haruka began to lose himself in the work, allowing his mind to fall blank, with only the thought of Makoto present in his mind. He felt a stirring in his chest, hot and foreign, but he ignored it as best he could. The completed drawing made Sasabe whistle low, and he took the parchment reverently.

“You have talent, son,” he said appreciatively. “Perhaps you’re not a lost cause after all.”

Haruka knew he should feel pride at his words, but he didn’t truly care what Sasabe thought. He snatched the drawing back from Sasabe, hurrying instead to where Makoto stood. He waited until his friend noticed him, before holding the parchment out, staring at it instead of Makoto’s face.

“Is this . . . did you do this?” Makoto asked, his voice full of wonder.

Haruka nodded.

“Haru, it’s amazing!”

Haruka lifted his gaze to catch the brilliant smile that lit Makoto’s features, and his heart thudded loudly in his chest.

Months passed, and Haruka drew every day for Sasabe, who sent his still-lifes and landscapes to the palace to the marketplace to sell. Haruka received none of the money received for the purchases, of course, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t drawing for money. He was drawing to stay there with Makoto.

He found he wasn’t a bad dancer. In fact, there was something freeing in the way he could lose himself in the music, though he always balked at the choreography Sasabe tried to give him, preferring to let the music take his body where it wanted him to go. It was better that way, and finally Sasabe gave up attempting to tell Haruka how to move.

Makoto, unfortunately, was a terrible dancer. He tripped over his own feet, not graceful in the slightest. But his good-natured laugh kept Sasabe from growing frustrated with him, and once the man heard him sing, he placed him on the dais with the other musicians instead.

Haruka liked it best when he was able to dance to the sound of Makoto’s voice. Closing his eyes, he saw the calming waves of the ocean of his home. He saw his mother’s smile, his father’s gentle hands making tea. He saw the trembling of the grass on the hills he used to play on when he was younger, moved by the wind. He caught himself up in that wind, on the ebb and flow of Makoto’s voice, and by the end he always shook with an emotion he couldn’t describe.

He could never quite look Makoto in the eye after these occurrences. It felt too intimate, in some way. But then Makoto would pat his shoulder, grin brightly, suggest they grab something to eat, and the anxiety would fade to the familiar warmth that he associated with Makoto’s presence.

It wasn’t long after that Nagisa arrived. At first Haruka wasn’t sure he wanted to share Makoto with someone else. But the haunted look in the small boy’s eyes reminded him so much of the emptiness he felt when he’d first been taken from his family that he couldn't bring himself to take Makoto away from him. Nagisa needed that sunlight as much as Haru had.

And slowly Nagisa began to grow on him too.

He was twelve when he began to realize that what he felt for Makoto ran deeper than normal friendship.

He sat drawing by the pond in the sleeping quarters, attempting to catch the movement of the tiny fish as they swam. Nagisa was at his yearly inspection, and Makoto had walked with him, Nagisa still too anxious to walk the halls alone. Haruka didn’t mind the silence, but it felt strange to be alone after the constant presence of Makoto and Nagisa to which he’d grown accustomed.

He was in the middle of wondering if there was someplace he could go to swim to calm his nerves that wasn’t the bathing room (which didn’t allow laps), when three shadows fell across his parchment. He paused, looking up at three young men a couple years older than he, leering at him.

He sighed and stood, bracing himself.

“I don’t see why you’re Sasabe-san’s favorite,” the first boy said, his voice whistling through a gap in his front teeth. “You’re not _that_ attractive.”

Haruka blinked. They were speaking Nekoran, though Sasabe encouraged them all to only speak Makurian, which they learned in class and from the boys that had been there longer.

The second boy had long hair that fell shaggily to his shoulders, and he smirked, placing his hand on Haruka’s shoulder to push him back against the wall. He did his best not to flinch, swallowing back the fear that rose unbidden, tightening his throat.

“Let go of me,” he said in a low voice, clutching his parchment and charcoal tightly.

“You’ll probably be sent to the army, since you can’t charm anyone with that awful personality,” the shaggy boy said.

“If you’re jealous, maybe you should try harder,” Haruka suggested.

The three of them sputtered. “We’re not _jealous_ ,” the whistler said, seething. He grabbed the front of Haruka’s tunic, pulling back his fist. “Let’s see how beautiful you are with your face all bloodied.”

Haruka knew he should probably do something, but his fear had faded to slight annoyance. He wished they’d get it over with so he could go back to drawing.

But then Makoto rounded the corner, Nagisa at his heels.

“Hey! Hey! What’s going on?” he cried, rushing over. Once Nagisa saw the confrontation, he stepped back behind a pillar, watching with wide eyes.

The three boys turned slowly, studying Makoto and then glancing at Haruka. He didn’t like the look in their eyes, and he began to feel that fear slipping back into him, his hands growing clammy. It wasn’t fear for himself, but for Makoto, who was looking past the three to Haruka with worried eyes.

“Haru? Are you all right?”

“Haru? Are you all right?” the shaggy boy imitated in a high, mocking voice. “Gods, it really bothers me when people waste their potential on useless friends.” He grinned, holding his hand out to Makoto. “You should join our group. You’re popular with most of the boys here. They look up to you. You shouldn’t spend all your time with a kid like this. He’ll only drag you down.” He jerked his thumb toward Haruka.

Haruka inhaled sharply and for one brief, terrifying moment, he wondered if Makoto would listen to them. If he would abandon him. Then he felt ridiculous, especially when Makoto’s expression hardened. He stepped forward, pushing past the boys to stand beside Haruka, wrapping his arm around his shoulder.

“Haru is my best friend,” he said firmly. “He’s better than all of you put together, so if you’re going to insult him then I don’t want to be your friend.” He shook his head.

Embarrassed, Haruka ducked his head, staring at the floor.

 _How am I better?_ His mind whirred, not comprehending how Makoto could think so highly of him. Makoto was sunlight and the calm of the ocean, joy and warmth and everything good in the world.

 _Am I going to drag him down? Would he be excelling faster if he didn’t insist on staying in the same classes as me?_ Classes he barely participated in . . .

The three boys were saying something, but Haruka couldn’t hear them over the rushing in his ears. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest, and he shifted slightly away from Makoto, not wanting him to feel it. Then the boys were gone, and Makoto’s hand searched for his.

“Haru?”

Haruka blinked, the light brush of Makoto’s fingers against his shooting jolts of something hot and bright up his arm. He flinched, stepping back. Another worried look entered Makoto’s eyes, but this time it was laced with something else. Hurt? Confusion?

“How am I better?” Haruka asked, wanting to know. Needing to know.

Makoto started in surprise. “What?”

“You said I was better than everyone here. How am I better?”

Makoto huffed, scratching at his chin. “Well . . . you just are.”

“I have an awful personality.”

“Huh? Who told you that?” Makoto asked, his eyes widening.

Haruka didn’t reply, simply looked at the ground.

“Haru . . . you don’t have an awful personality. You’re just . . . different from other people. You think differently. But you’re a good person. You’re kind and you take care of me and-and . . .” He stopped, looking frustrated. After a moment he waved his arms helplessly. “In a place like this, so far from my family’s farm . . . you’re the closest thing I have to home!”

Haruka lifted his gaze, noting the flush on Makoto’s cheeks, feeling his own starting to heat.

Makoto wrinkled his nose. “Sometimes I think you worry more than I do,” he admitted, holding out his hand. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Haruka took his hand without a word, and Makoto walked over to where Nagisa still hid, holding his hand out to the younger boy. Nagisa took it quickly and stood, and the three of them made their way to the kitchens.

 

Haruka’s feelings only grew more confusing after that. He reached the age of thirteen, and most of the boys were beginning to experiment, curious about their bodies and what they did and didn’t like. It wasn’t uncommon to stumble across a couple sloppily kissing or fumbling beneath tunics, and Makoto often grew flustered, quickly covering Nagisa’s eyes whenever they encountered such furtive rendezvous.

Haruka always found himself staring, however, much to Makoto’s embarrassment. He didn’t think it seemed very appealing, having someone’s mouth on yours like that. It looked slimy and wet. And to have another’s hand down where his most sensitive parts were . . . it made him shudder to think of it.

But he couldn’t help but wonder if Makoto wanted those things. He never seemed like he did, and Haruka never caught him glancing longingly at any of the other boys, or staring with eyes dark with lust. In fact, Makoto seemed to prefer to be blissfully unaware of such happenings, and Haruka wondered if he got those urges at all.

Haruka hadn’t, and he wondered if there was something wrong with him because he hadn’t.

He was fourteen when the realization first came to him.

He and Makoto sat on the edge of the bathing pool, kicking their feet absently in the water. Haruka had already bathed, as had Makoto, and now they were simply waiting on Nagisa, who kept getting distracted by the soap, slipping it out of his hands on purpose with a squeal, before rushing to find it, only to repeat the process. It was somewhat irritating, but Nagisa was laughing, so Haruka endured it.

Makoto placed his hands behind him, looking up at the ceiling above them. There was a small hole in the architecture, revealing a spot of dark blue sky, speckled with stars.

“Don’t you think it’s amazing that the stars we see here are the same ones that my family is seeing?” Makoto asked with a faint grin. “I wonder if Ran or Ren are wishing on any . . .”

Haruka glanced over at him, about to ask what the point of wishing on stars was, when his gaze caught on the elegant curve of Makoto’s neck. He stared, swallowing. Had it always been that slender and soft-looking? He couldn’t help but follow the line to Makoto’s collarbones, noting how they jutted almost alluringly, and then his chest, toned from years of sword-training. The skin of his abdomen stretched over more muscle, silky smooth, marred only by dark hair that began beneath his navel, drifting down toward . . .

Haruka shifted his gaze away quickly, inwardly cursing the flush that began to heat his cheeks. He stood abruptly, feeling the sudden urge to cover up as quickly as possible. Makoto glanced over at him, issuing a worried, “Haru?”

But Haruka pulled his tunic quickly over his head, exiting the bathing room without waiting for Makoto and Nagisa, a rare occurrence in of itself.

His heart was pounding, but he didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t ever seen Makoto naked before. They bathed together with the other boys twice a week. So why had his neck suddenly felt hot looking at him now? Why had his pulse raced? Why had he felt self-conscious? It didn’t make sense. Makoto was his best friend. He shouldn’t be causing him this much anxiety.

“Haru?” Makoto had followed him out of the bathing room, though Nagisa wasn’t beside him.

Haruka wondered if Makoto had asked him to stay inside. His friend was wearing his own tunic, and his brown hair still dripped water onto his neck and shoulders. Haruka found himself staring at those drops. One lingered on the lobe of Makoto’s ear, and Haruka felt a sudden urge to lick it off.

He stepped back quickly. “I’m fine,” he insisted, realizing Makoto was still staring at him worriedly.

“Should I not have mentioned my family?” Makoto asked softly, regret flickering in his eyes.

Haruka felt sick to his stomach. “ _No_ ,” he said, shaking his head. “You can talk about them. It’s fine. I’m fine. Stop worrying so much.”

Makoto tilted his head, studying him with a scrutiny Haruka didn’t like. He fidgeted, fingers tugging at the seams of his tunic.

“I’m just tired,” he said finally. “I’m going to bed.”

“All right . . . I’ll be in with Nagisa in a bit,” Makoto said, still looking at him as though trying to figure out what Haruka wasn’t telling him.

Haruka broke eye contact quickly, turning and practically running to the sleeping quarters.

That night, he was grateful for Nagisa’s body shielding him from Makoto’s. It acted as a barrier, protecting him from the swirling of unfamiliar and uncomfortable feelings that he didn’t understand. He didn’t want to deal with them, so he did his best to forget them, to push them aside, because he was sure of one thing: he didn’t want to lose Makoto.

That didn’t stop him from continuing to notice Makoto, however. He grew more aware of him than ever. The tilt of his head as he smiled, eyes closing in pure happiness. The way he ruffled his hair, pushing it back from his forehead from time to time. The fondness in his eyes as he looked upon Nagisa. All of these things only endeared him more to Haruka.

There were other things too. The mere brush of Makoto’s fingers against Haruka’s skin left burning sensations that lingered far too long for comfort. When he would lean against Haruka, bending his head to whisper a comment during class, Haruka felt his warm breath curl around his ear and a shiver would run down his spine. And whenever they changed in and out of their tunics, Haruka had to keep his gaze fixed solely on the floor.

His dreams became unsettling. Makoto began to appear more and more often, sometimes just laying with him in flower covered fields, sometimes swimming with him in the ocean, walking with him along the beach of his home. These were tolerable dreams. They were nice, warm, and comforting. He didn’t have to fear those dreams.

No, it was the dreams that came with surging heat, the ones where he never knew quite what was happening, but Makoto’s hands would be on him, his voice murmuring indistinct words into his ears, and his body would quiver and shake and he’d awake in a warm sweat, throbbing and aching.

When this happened, he always quickly thought of something else, something sobering, something that he despised, and the heat would gradually fade until he could once more fall asleep.

But one night when he was fifteen, he gathered the courage to do something different. When the dream came, searing and overwhelming, he pulled slowly from Nagisa, picking his way around the mats and heading toward the pond. He knelt beside it, facing the corner. Tentatively, he lifted his tunic, sliding his hand underneath to wrap his fingers around the erection, already slick and wet. Was it supposed to be like that? He wasn’t sure.

He pressed his forehead against the wall in front of him, closing his eyes and picturing Makoto’s face, his warm smile, the feel of his touch against his hands, arms, shoulders. As he did, he moved his hand quickly up and down his length, breathing uneven. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he wondered briefly if this was wrong, but before he could grow too concerned about that, his body shook and stars exploded behind his eyes, and he had to bite back a cry of pleasure.

Slowly, he extracted his hand from beneath his tunic, staring at the sticky liquid that covered it with wide eyes.

_What did I just . . .?_

Hastily, he washed his hands in the pond, drying them on the sides of his tunic, before rushing back toward his mat. He buried his face in it, his body feeling much too warm. He ventured a peek toward Makoto’s sleeping face, as beautiful as an angel’s, and guilt thudded in his chest.

_How could I have thought of Makoto in that way? How filthy could I be?_

He told himself that it wouldn’t happen again, but it did. The following night and the night after, for weeks afterward, until Haruka had to admit, in the dark of the night, with his body still quivering from the intensity of his climax,

 _I’m in love with Makoto_.

 

Haruka turned sixteen first, but he told no one. When the physician came and looked him over during the exam, he asked Haruka when his birthday was. He said November, which was Makoto’s birthday. He knew the choosing was coming swiftly, and he couldn’t leave without Makoto.

He hadn’t told his friend about his feelings, but how could he? How did one approach a subject such as this? Over and over in his mind he went over possible scenarios, but even the ones that ended well didn’t satisfy him. Makoto was his best friend, his family. He didn’t want to lose that, especially when it didn’t seem as though Makoto felt the same as he. At least, Haruka had seen no sign of strange behavior. Makoto remained as steadfast and patient and loving as always.

Meanwhile, Haruka was a mess of hormones and anxiety, barely holding together beneath his well-practiced mask of calm.

Then the night before the choosing arrived, and Haruka could no longer keep his emotions under control. Makoto comforted him and Nagisa as best he could, assuring them that they would all most likely end up working in the palace. But Haruka could see the worry in Makoto’s eyes, and he knew that Makoto didn’t truly believe that would happen.

He stayed silent though, as Makoto rubbed Nagisa’s back until the younger boy cried himself to sleep.

“What do you think will happen?” Haruka whispered finally, eyes trained on Makoto’s face. “I want the truth.”

Makoto sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “The only thing I’m decent at is sword-training and singing. But if they don’t need another singer . . .”

Haruka moved his hand, picking up Makoto’s and lacing his fingers through his. It didn’t send as strong of a jolt through his body, more of a warm, tingling sensation that was easy to ignore. Makoto squeezed his hand tightly.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly. “So you’ll probably be chosen for the palace.”

Haruka shook his head. “You’re more beautiful than me,” he insisted. “All you have to do is smile and they’ll see that.”

A tiny one began to lift Makoto’s lips, but then it faltered and all Haruka could see was fear and sadness.

It wasn’t right. Makoto shouldn’t look like that. He was supposed to be sunlight and calm ocean waves, steadfast and pure. He was supposed to be joy and laughter and _home_.

“Haru . . .”

Haruka didn’t let him finish. Before he could fully process what he was doing, he leaned forward, reaching over Nagisa’s head, to press his lips against Makoto’s in a soft but desperate kiss. He couldn’t lose Makoto. He couldn’t. What would he be without him? He’d come to him an empty shell, and Makoto had filled him back up with love and acceptance and unwavering devotion.

Haruka loved him.

He _loved_ him.

He wanted to say it. It was on the tip of his tongue. But he would need to pull back from the kiss in order to do so, and he wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.

He could feel Makoto’s tears wetting his cheeks, and after a moment Makoto’s hand moved to touch Haruka’s hair lightly, as he returned the kiss slowly. His lips held none of Haruka’s desperation, but there seemed to be a slight urgency. Haruka parted his lips, about to deepen the kiss, but before he could Makoto pulled away with a quiet sigh full of regret.

Haruka’s stomach twisted, and he opened his eyes. Makoto’s eyes remained closed, and he searched his friend’s face for an expression that would tell him whether or not Makoto shared his feelings.

Makoto opened his eyes, and all Haruka saw was pain.

_What does that mean?_

“Haru, I-I’m sorry.”

Haruka felt panic rise in him. _What does that_ mean _?_

Makoto pressed a soft kiss to Haruka’s forehead, before repeating the gesture to Nagisa. Haruka could feel his heart sinking, a dark dread looming over him. He wanted to ask. He wanted to bare his soul and tell Makoto everything, about his dreams, about the way Makoto’s smile made his heart leap, about the fire his fingertips left on his skin.

But Makoto closed his eyes once more, breathing another sigh, and before Haruka could say anything, the other had fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Kisumi's departure, Nagisa's reunion with his father, and misunderstandings


	2. A Step Too Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't mean for this to grow so angsty.
> 
> I'm truly sorry.
> 
> On a happier note, [muchacha11](http://muchacha11.tumblr.com/) on tumblr drew two beautiful pieces for Blue Lotus, White Lotus! Check them out: [MakoHaru Reunion Storyboard!](http://muchacha11.tumblr.com/post/125743785512/iam-such-a-nerd-for-fics) and [Adorable Reigisa with Rei's missing arm](http://muchacha11.tumblr.com/post/125953740742/whats-that-you-say-you-havent-read-blue-lotus)

_He can’t breathe. His face is smothered, pressed firmly against red velvet. The material is wet, but he can’t tell if it’s tears or blood. Hot breath slides over his neck, and nails dig into his arms, pushing them together, until a thin silk cord winds around his wrists. He can’t struggle. He can’t do anything but lie there, and then the pain comes, sharp and violent, and he can’t scream, he can’t escape. He bites down on the velvet, squeezing his eyes shut, as his heart pounds faster and faster . . ._

Haruka feels a warm body pressing against him, a heavy arm across his shoulders, warm breath tickling his ear. He reacts before he fully registers the situation, smacking the arm away and kicking back at whoever is behind him. He hears a yelp of surprise, but he’s already whirling around, crouched and ready to run. He can hear his heartbeat thudding wildly in his chest, his throat tight.

“Haru?”

He blinks, suddenly seeing Makoto sitting in front of him, watching him with a worried expression. Immediately the tension leaves his body, replaced by guilt. Before Makoto can say anything else, Haru crawls back over to him, placing his forehead lightly against Makoto’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, squeezing his eyes shut.

 _It’s not enough_.

“Are you all right, Haru?” Makoto asks, placing his hand on the back of Haruka’s head, stroking his hair slowly.

Haruka is at a loss. Does he say no and risk Makoto asking him further questions? Or does he lie and pretend everything is fine when it’s obvious that it isn’t? In the end, he’s spared from replying at all, as Kisumi awakes, moaning loudly, as he stretches his arms over his head.

“Amazing, that was the most incredible sleep I’ve ever had!” he exclaims, before glancing at the two on the floor. “Hey, Makoto, how’d you sleep?”

Haruka pulls back, as Makoto turns to look over at Kisumi, who looks far too attractive for someone who’d just woken up. His hair is mussed, his kaftan wrinkled, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes, and the sleepy smirk he gives Makoto holds such affection, Haruka feels his chest tightening once more.

“I was perfectly comfortable, thank you,” Makoto says, moving to stand. He holds out a hand for Haruka, who hesitates only briefly before taking it and allowing his friend to pull him to his feet.

For a moment the three of them linger in their current positions, each turning to stare at the doorway that leads to Nagisa and Rei’s side of the suite.

“Ah,” Makoto says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Should we disturb them?”

Kisumi tilts his head toward the doorway, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Hm, it doesn’t _sound_ as though they’re fucking.”

Makoto chokes, coughing. “Kisumi! Please don’t be so crude!” he exclaims, a flush coloring his cheeks.

Haruka stares at it, thinking Makoto is cute while flustered. He wonders if he should say this, but with Kisumi in the room, he isn’t sure if he wants to, not knowing what the other would say to such a declaration. He would probably tease Haruka, and Haruka isn’t in the mood to deal with such playfulness.

He walks toward the doorway, as Kisumi laughs and Makoto continues to wave his arms in distress. Peering into the room, he can see two figures lying entangled on the bed. They’re not engaged in intercourse, but they are embracing intimately, lips on lips, Nagisa’s arms wrapped around Rei’s shoulders, fingers moving through his hair.

Haruka bites his lip, worrying on it as he watches. What did it feel like to be held in that way? And how did Nagisa allow it to happen, after everything he’d been through? Was his stomach not twisting in knots? Did he not see that cruel prince in his mind’s eye every time Rei touched him? Haruka doesn’t want to admit his fear, even to himself, but standing there he wonders for one terrible moment if he’d be able to withstand Makoto touching him (if he ever wants to, that is).

Would he feel warmth? Or would he feel fear?

The latter thought disturbs him. He doesn’t want to be afraid of Makoto. Makoto is his home, the one person with whom he feels the most safe. He remembers not being afraid while with Nagisa, but he had been the one to initiate the contact, and they hadn’t gone further than kissing.

“Well, Haru?” Kisumi’s voice breaks through his ruminations before panic can arrive, and Haruka shakes his head to clear his mind, irritation spiking at Kisumi calling him “Haru.”

“They’re not fucking,” he says, fighting a smile at Makoto’s squawk of protest.

At the sound of his voice, the two on the bed freeze, lifting their heads to blink over at him. Rei sits up quickly, grabbing for his kaftan to pull over his head.

“Haruka-san! I didn’t see you there,” he says apologetically, ignoring Nagisa’s mews of disappointment. His Makurian sounds jarring in the midst of the Nekoran surrounding him.

Makoto steps up behind Haruka, and Haruka can sense his presence immediately. He clenches his fists, telling himself not to react, as Makoto’s hands lay lightly on his shoulders.

“We’re sorry to disturb you, but we should probably head downstairs to eat breakfast before we continue on our journey,” Makoto says apologetically.

“But I’m not hungry!” Nagisa protests, sitting up, before sighing. “All right, we’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Haruka glances up at Makoto just in time to see the stern look on his face fade to warm affection. He feels a tug on his shoulder, and allows Makoto to turn him back into their side of the suite, leaving Nagisa and Rei the privacy they need to dress.

“Do you need new clothes, Haru?” Makoto asks, eying the tunic that Haruka wore.

Haruka glances down at it, wondering if there’s something wrong. It isn’t particularly dirty, though he supposes it’s the only thing he’s worn for years. He realizes that he’d left his extra tunic back in the kitchens.

“I have clothing that might fit him!” Kisumi offers with a grin.

That decides things for Haruka. “I’m fine,” he says.

In the end the three do nothing but sit in awkward silence until Nagisa and Rei enter, both dressed and ready for travel. Nagisa admits that he might be hungry after all, and so the five of them exit the room and make their way down to the dining area of the inn. They find a table and order some food (Haruka is disappointed they have no mackerel on the menu, to which Makoto laughs, nudging him and saying, “I almost forgot how much you love mackerel!” This leaves Haruka equal parts gratified and disappointed, because how could Makoto almost forget something like that about him of all people?).

They’re served and they eat, thanking the innkeeper for the food. At first he tries to insist they pay, but Rei reminds him of how valuable that earring he gave him is, and that shuts the man’s mouth.

They’re tacking the horses in the stable when Kisumi turns to Makoto with a serious expression that makes Haruka’s heart beat faster, though he isn’t clear as to why.

“This is where I must leave you, Makoto,” he says regretfully.

Makoto’s eyes widen. “What do you mean? You’re not going with us?”

Haruka can hear disappointment in Makoto’s voice, and his stomach twists. He slides his hand over the side of the mare’s neck in front of him, trailing his fingernails through the soft hair.

“I’m going to stay here and look for my brother,” Kisumi says. “I know he’s still alive somewhere, and if he came from here it’s the most likely place he’ll return, right?”

“Kisumi . . .”

There’s worry in Makoto’s voice, and Haruka glances over in time to see Kisumi hug Makoto tightly. His chest squeezes around his lungs, but he can’t stop watching in misery, as Makoto returns the hug with equal ferocity. 

“Please be careful,” he says, in typical Makoto fashion.

Kisumi pulls back, placing both hands on either side of Makoto’s face, kissing him firmly. Haruka’s heart suddenly drops, along with his stomach, and he tears his gaze away, burying his face instead in the warm neck of his horse. He doesn’t hear what they say next, a loud rushing in his ears cutting off all sound. He struggles to breathe, and is surprised by the way his eyes burn.

_I have no right to cry. Makoto isn’t mine . . ._

But that knowledge doesn’t stop him from feeling that ugly twist of jealousy, that overwhelming hatred toward Kisumi.

A soft touch of a hand at his shoulder causes him to stiffen. He knows to whom it belongs, but he can’t turn to face Makoto in that moment.

“Haru, he’s only a friend.”

Haruka doesn’t understand why Makoto feels the need to tell him this. There’s concern in Makoto’s voice, but when he says nothing further, Haruka sighs, turning from the horse to look up briefly at Makoto’s face. All he sees in his expression is worry. How can Makoto read him so well, while he struggles to understand every shift in Makoto’s features? Makoto’s emotions used to be so clearly displayed, and while he’s not exactly closed off and distant, he’s more confusing than ever and that makes Haruka nervous.

“It’s none of my business,” Haruka says finally, deciding to simply ignore the whole thing completely. He swings up onto the horse, facing forward this time. He gathers up the reins and considers moving forward without Makoto, but that seems cruel. So instead he waits until Makoto mounts the horse behind him, trying to stop the heat that spreads through him as soon as one of Makoto’s hands rests gently on his hip.

“You just seem upset,” Makoto says softly, his breath brushing past Haruka’s ear.

Haruka suppresses a shiver, waiting for Nagisa and Rei to mount their pinto. They’ve tied the third horse’s reins to the saddle of their own, Nagisa not having wanted his own horse (unsurprisingly). The two turn to look back at Haruka and Makoto expectantly.

“Lead the way,” Makoto says, and Haruka can hear the smile in his voice.

Rei smiles in return, before urging his horse forward, Makoto and Haruka following.

They’re almost out of the town when Makoto speaks again, his voice low in Haruka’s ear.

“I . . . I want you to know that I-I . . . I never took any lovers while I was away.”

Haruka’s breath hitches before he can stop it. His shoulders stiffen. He can feel his heart pounding faster, even as his mind tells him not to jump to conclusions.

“Why . . . why are you telling me this?” he asks, keeping his voice as level as possible.

It’s a long moment before Makoto replies, and when he does, his voice holds regret, which only confuses Haruka further.

“I just . . . wanted you to know.”

Haruka wonders if this is supposed to be a comfort. But all he can think of is the weight of Rin’s body on his, the suffocating heat; the sharp ache that always lingered uncomfortably for days afterward. He hunches forward in his seat, reminded once more how incredibly undeserving he is. Makoto’s light shouldn’t be able to reach him, deep within the ocean, beneath layers of water that he’d poured to protect himself, to keep out the pain of Rin’s selfishness brought him, to deal with the loneliness of the dark dungeon cell.

Makoto was the sun, and he was buried in the dirt of shame and humiliation and terror.

_Even after all this time he remains untouched, and what am I?_

He knows he’s being irrational. How many times had he witnessed this same conversation between Nagisa and Rei? Or Nagisa and the princess? Every time they insisted that in spite of what had happened to Nagisa, he was still worthy of love.

_But Nagisa is different. He’s always been pure at heart. I’ve been tainted. My heart is dark. It always has been._

He remembers the emptiness he felt as his parents’ death. Why hadn’t he cried like a normal child? Why did he always grow so angry whenever Makoto spent time with others, despite the knowledge that he would never willingly leave him?

He’s possessive and jealous, broken and sullied. No wonder Makoto doesn’t want him in that way; he hadn’t back then, and Haruka doubts he does now.

His misery continues, as their trek lengthens. Makoto seems confused by his sullen silence and tries to cheer him with humorous tales that he undoubtedly learned from Kisumi. When those don’t work, Makoto begins to sing.

That pulls Haruka out of his depressed state, at least partially. He lifts his head, listening intently to the rise and fall of Makoto’s voice, taking comfort in the familiarity of it. He closes his eyes, picturing his island’s ocean, the waves moving up and down the shore in peaceful waves.

Makoto’s hand begins to gently stroke his side, and Haruka feels heat burn the back of his neck that isn’t related to the sun high in the sky above them.

As night approaches, they arrive at a town that borders the line between Makuria and Nekor. As such, there are quite a few soldiers around. In an attempt to avoid recognition, they head toward the seedier part of town, coming to an inn that looks suspicious at best and dangerous at worst.

“Are we sure we should stop here?” Makoto asks hesitantly. “Can we not simply ride into Nekor and find a place there?”

“Nagisa is falling asleep,” Rei says apologetically, looking down at the boy in front of him, whose head bobs back and forth.

This doesn’t stop Makoto’s worry, and Haruka takes his hand, as they tie their horses to a post and enter the establishment. He gives it a firm squeeze, feeling Makoto clutching his tightly in return. In the light from the lanterns inside, he can see the fear on Makoto’s face, and he drifts closer automatically, hoping to reassure him with his presence.

“I suppose I can squeeze you into a room,” the innkeeper says once Rei explains their situation. He doesn’t seem as scary as his place of business would suggest, but Haruka still doesn’t trust him. “But I’ll need the payment upfront,” he continues, to which Rei agrees.

They’re on their way to their room when a drunken man stumbles into their path. Rei quickly guides Nagisa around him, pushing him into the room, but with their joined hands, Makoto and Haruka cannot move out of the way fast enough, and the man hits Makoto’s chest, almost falling over. Makoto quickly reaches forward to catch his arm to keep him from hitting the ground.

“M-My apologies!” Makoto exclaims.

The man blinks up at him, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Say, you’re a handsome fellow,” he slurs. “Why don’t you come with me? We can have a grand time together.”

Makoto’s face pales, and Haruka releases his hand to instinctively step in front of him.

“If you lay a hand on him it will be the last time you have a hand,” he says in a low voice, glaring at the man with all the venom he can muster.

“H-Haru!” Makoto’s hands flutter about his shoulders, but Haruka remains firm, staring down the man before him.

The man blinks, wavering on his feet. “That seems harsh,” he pouts. “I’m only looking for some nightly comfort.”

Haruka says nothing, believing he’d gotten his point across the first time. After studying his expression, the man huffs, waving them off dismissively before passing them by. Haruka doesn’t move until the man is out of sight. He then allows Makoto to pull him into the room. 

“Haru . . . you’re shaking.”

Makoto’s soft voice startles him, and he looks down at his hands, which are indeed trembling.

Makoto takes them in his larger ones, squeezing gently. “You’re always saving me,” he says quietly, sighing. “Thank you.”

Haruka stares at those hands, so familiar yet different now, callouses raised on his palms, small scars covering a finger here and there. He feels the overwhelming urge to bury his face in them, but he isn’t sure how Makoto would respond. In the end, he simply squeezes back, glancing up at Makoto’s face in order to see that smile, the one with the tilt of the head and the tender curve of lips.

The smile Haruka only ever saw directed toward himself.

He wants to kiss him. He truly does. He even allows himself to wonder what it would be like, if it would feel the same as their first and only kiss did, or if it would be different.

But Rei and Nagisa are present, settling down on one of the two small beds, cramped close together in the small room. So instead, he simply pulls Makoto toward the other bed, lying down and tugging Makoto down beside him. Makoto moves willingly, settling on his side so he can see Haruka’s face.

Again Haruka can’t help but lift his hand, moving his fingertips over the lines and curves of Makoto’s face. He traces them across his eyebrows, down the soft temple, over the roundness of his cheekbone to his nose. Makoto closes his eyes, breathing softly. He seems content, so Haruka continues, brushing back strands of hair, still somewhat sticky with sweat. His thumb glides down Makoto’s nose, before his fingers jump to his jawline, stroking along the edge of it.

“Haru . . .” Makoto whispers the name, and Haruka’s heart jumps in response.

His fingers start to tremble, and Makoto reaches up to take his hand, moving them to his lips. He kisses their tips lightly, and a fluttering feeling enters Haruka’s stomach. Makoto’s eyes open then, and he looks at Haruka with solemnity.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

Haruka shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was so afraid you’d be angry with me. That you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

The thought is so ludicrous, Haruka almost laughs. Instead, he shakes his head again.

He wants to say it. He wants to tell him of how the thought of Makoto had gotten him through days of endless agony. How he dreamt of him nearly every night, how panicked he’d been when he began to lose sight of Makoto’s features in his mind. He wants to tell Makoto how much he means to him, how much he loves him, how much he wants and needs him.

But the words don’t come. All he can think of is light and darkness and how easy it is to snuff out light, how easy it is to succumb to darkness.

He has to protect Makoto. He sees that now. The fear of being rejected is replaced by a fear of what might happen to Makoto if, by some miracle, he _does_ return Haruka’s feelings. Of how he’d be dragged into a relationship full of constant nightmares; a relationship with a man who isn’t even sure he can be touched intimately.

What type of relationship is that?

He deems it an unfair one.

“Haru.”

Haruka pulls himself from his thoughts, focusing once more on Makoto’s face. Makoto releases his hand, in order to lightly brush Haruka’s hair out of his eyes.

“I can save you too, if you’ll let me,” Makoto says in a quiet yet earnest voice. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’ve been hurt. But I-I . . . I want to help you heal. I-I lo—”

“No.” Haruka cuts him off quickly, his eyes widening, as his heart pounds faster. “I can’t . . . I can’t let you—”

_I can’t let you see how broken I am. I have to protect you from my scars. My darkness. You have to stay sunlight._

Makoto bites his lip, his hand moving to Haruka’s shoulder, stroking it soothingly. “All right, Haru, all right,” he says, though his eyes look worried and Haruka wonders if that’s also disappointment that he sees deep within Makoto’s expression.

Telling himself that this was best, Haruka moves down to bury his face against Makoto’s chest, exhaling shakily. Makoto’s hand shifts to his back, rubbing it in slow circles. After a while this manages to relax Haruka enough to help him fall asleep.

 

***

 

They take a roundabout way toward the Hazuki farm, not wanting to run into any bandits or soldiers. As a result the journey takes longer and the days in the hot sun begin to affect the travelers in negative ways.

Nagisa is constantly cranky, whining about the heat, about the lack of food, about the water rations. Rei tries to soothe him as best he can, and Nagisa attempts to respond well, but soon even Rei isn’t safe from his mood swings. Makoto smiles less, and when he does they’re tired smiles, weary ones. He does his best to keep morale high, but his voice grows hoarse from all the talking and singing, and soon they all insist he rest, despite his protests.

Haruka doesn’t mind the silence. What he does mind is this growing tension between him and Makoto. It’s not obvious at first, but he begins to notice Makoto touching him less, his lips pursing whenever Haruka refuses to answer a question or eat his share of the rations. He only wants to make sure the others have enough, and he finds the questions pointless attempts at useless conversation, so he doesn’t understand why Makoto is growing increasingly frustrated with him.

Their nights are spent in reticence, and while Makoto continues to hold Haruka close, there’s no more tender back rubs, no more efforts to “heal” Haruka, which is what he’d asked for, he supposes, but he thought Makoto might be more persistent. Has he given up on him already?

The thought fills him with dread, but with the growing distance between them, Haruka can’t seem to find the right words to break it. He knows it’s his own fault, but his lack of social skills makes it difficult to know what to do to fix things. He needs Makoto to fix it, but after begging him _not_ to interfere, how could he possibly ask him to step in now?

They’re all exhausted and irritable when they arrive at a town Rei and Makoto seem to recognize. They immediately straighten in their saddles, catching the attention of Nagisa and Haruka.

“What is it?” Nagisa asks curiously.

“We’re here,” Rei says, an amazed smile brightening his features.

Behind him, Haruka can hear Makoto’s delighted laugh, breaking through the dark cloud looming over the small company. They urge their horses to go faster, and they respond willingly, almost as though they can sense the revitalized energy in their riders. Haruka doesn’t recognize the town, but Rei and Makoto speed through it without allowing them to get a good view of its buildings and inhabitants. And then they’re leaving the town behind, heading toward pastures and farms. They pass a couple lakes, man-made most likely, and rows of workers stripped bare to the waist, monitoring irrigation channels and gathering what crops are ripe enough to collect.

They seem to be heading toward a certain farm in particular. Haruka can hear the bleating of sheep, and they crest a hill, coming to a stop in front of a cottage made of red brick, smoke rising from a chimney.

Nagisa is sitting frozen in his seat, eyes wide. Makoto nudges his mare closer to Rei’s, smiling brightly at Nagisa.

“Do you recognize it?” he asks. 

Haruka glances between the two of them, it beginning to dawn on him where they are. Nagisa’s brow furrows, and his eyes scan the front of the cottage, his gaze moving to the sheep fenced in beside the house, the barn several yards away. He inhales deeply, a flicker of recognition sparking his expression.

“Is this . . .”

An older man, with eyes the same shade of magenta as Nagisa and golden hair streaked with grey, steps from the house, carrying an empty basket. He starts in surprise when he notices the horses and riders, and a question parts his lips, before his gaze settles on Nagisa.

The two stare at each other for a long moment, each attempting to recognize the other.

“N-Nagisa?” The man, who Haruka realizes can only be Nagisa’s father, steps forward, voice trembling.

Nagisa remains seated, his eyes wide.

“Nagisa,” the man’s voice is stronger now, but his eyes are filling with tears, as he draws nearer, dropping the basket in order to hold out his arms. “M-my son.”

Nagisa gasps, sudden recognition lighting his eyes. He launches himself off the horse then, barreling into the man with enough force to knock them down. Rei hops off, and Makoto dismounts as well, lifting his arms to help Haruka, a reflex gesture. Haruka debates ignoring the arms, but in the end he leans into them, allowing Makoto to take his waist and lift him off and onto the ground. He can hear Makoto’s soft sigh, knowing he’s thinking of how thin he is, but Haruka fixes his gaze on the reunion between Nagisa and his father, his chest swelling with relief and perhaps even happiness at the sight.

The two are crying and laughing and clinging to each other so tightly, Haruka wonders if the old man can even breathe properly. Finally, they seem to remember their audience, and they break apart, moving to stand.

Farmer Hazuki bows deeply, his eyes still shining with tears. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Thank you for returning my precious son to me.”

The three of them bow in return. “It was our pleasure,” Makoto says with a bright smile.

“Come in, I will fix you something to eat. You must be hungry after traveling so far,” Hazuki says, wrapping his arm around his son’s shoulders, gesturing for them to follow him inside.

“Where is the pink-haired man who was with you before?” he asks once they reach the interior of the cottage. “Shigino-san?”

“Ah, he . . . he went looking for his brother,” Makoto explains. He places a hand on Haruka’s shoulder then, pushing him forward a step. “This is Haruka.” He appears to want to say more, but in the end he simply closes his mouth and nods.

Haruka bows. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he murmurs, resenting the fact that Makoto had been here previously with Kisumi.

“It is an honor to meet you as well,” Hazuki says with another bow. “Please, have a seat, and I will prepare you a meal.”

“I’ll help you!” Nagisa exclaims, understandably not wanting to leave his father’s side.

“I’m not feeling very hungry,” Haruka says then, earning him a sharp looking from Makoto, which he ignores. “But if there is a bathing room I could use, I would appreciate the opportunity to rid myself of this sweat and sand.” He can feel Makoto and Rei’s eyes on him, knowing it was more words than he’d spoken the entirety of their journey. He tries not to let it embarrass him.

“Unfortunately I do not have such a room,” Hazuki admits. “However, there is a pond on the other side of the barn which serves well for bathing.”

Haruka bows once more. “Thank you,” he says, before turning and walking out the door, ignoring Makoto’s sputtering attempt at a protest.

He knows Makoto wants him to eat, but there would be more for the rest of them if he doesn’t. Besides, he truly isn’t very hungry. Or perhaps he’s simply used to the dull ache in his stomach. He wonders absently if the old man knows how to cook mackerel, or if there’s any mackerel even around these parts. There’d always been a plentiful amount of them in the ocean near his home. But he can’t smell the ocean here, though the place is greener than most.

He finds the pond behind the barn like Farmer Hazuki said he would, a circular body of water around twelve feet in diameter. A small stream feeds into it, disappearing into trees beyond the farm. Haruka doesn’t waste time in shedding his tunic, stiff with sweat and sand. He drops it to the ground, walking toward the water.

He’s just about to step into the pond, when he senses someone behind him. Even before he turns he knows who it is, and he meets Makoto’s gaze. He expects a lecture about not eating, so he’s surprised when he sees tears in Makoto’s eyes.

“Haru? You-your back . . . what-what happened to it?” Makoto’s voice is small, full of worry and pain.

At first Haruka is confused, but then he remembers.

 

“The punishment for attempted assassination is death.” Captain Yamazaki of the Matsuoka Royal Family’s Kingsguard walked alongside him, holding tight to the chain that led to the cuff around Haruka’s wrist. “I should kill you right now for what you did in there.”

 _So do it,_ Haruka thought, but remained silent.

Yamazaki sighed, running his free hand over his face. “My prince might have requested for me to spare your life, but we cannot allow such an act to go unpunished. I’ve already spoken to the king. You’ll be sentenced to two years in the dungeon. However, I’m afraid he’s decreed you’ll need twenty lashes as well, as a reminder not to pull something like that again.”

Surprisingly, Yamazaki sounded almost apologetic. Haruka looked up at him, but the man’s face was turned away. When they came to the dungeon, Yamazaki handed Haruka’s chain over to the warden, explaining what was to be done. Two dungeon guards placed him against the wall, uncuffing his wrist only to chain him to the wall with larger, heavier cuffs. With his back turned to those gathered, Haruka ground his teeth, tensing. He knew what was coming, and he flinched as a guard tore his small blue vest from his body, the ragged material floating to the floor.

Then came the crack of a whip, and Haruka’s back was on fire. He managed to keep from crying out, but only by biting his lip with such force that it began to bleed. He wrapped his hands around the chains that supported him, whimpering as the next lash hit, ripping into skin and muscle. He couldn’t suppress the scream that forced its way out, and by the fourth and fifth lashes, he was sobbing quietly.

When they finally finished with him, the guards unchained him, and he slumped to the blood-covered floor, his entire being throbbing and burning with agony. It was only then that he noticed Yamazaki was still in the room, watching him with a pale, impassive face. He stepped forward, holding out his hand to help Haruka to his feet.

But Haruka ignored the offer for assistance, turning his face into the dirt instead. The guards grabbed him roughly then, dragging him out of the room and flinging him into a cell. He crumpled to the floor, unable to do anything but lie there, hot tears spilling from his cheeks, as he whimpered Makoto’s name.

  

Haruka blinks away the memory, shaking his head slowly in answer to Makoto’s question. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“But those scars . . . what _happened_?” Makoto repeats, his voice and eyes and entire being begging for Haruka to open up to him, to let him in, to let him _help_.

“I attacked the prince. So I was punished,” Haruka says, as nonchalantly as possible. He shrugs. “It’s in the past now.”

Makoto rushes forward, taking Haruka’s shoulders in his hands and shaking him lightly. “Stop that!” he exclaims, startling Haruka. “Stop pretending like you’re not hurting. Stop thinking you need to carry this burden on your own. You don’t need to do that, Haru! I’m here now. I’m _here_. I came back for you, so please let me _help_ you!”

Haruka blinks, watching Makoto’s frustrated expression and wondering if he’d still feel so adamant if he knew the truth about everything. He opens his mouth, but he has no idea what to say, as per usual. Makoto looks back at him expectantly, but Haruka can only stare back at him.

“I don’t . . . I don’t know what to tell you,” Haruka admits finally, swallowing back the growing lump in his throat.

Makoto sighs, dropping his hands from his shoulders. “I just . . . you’re always saving me. I want to be able to save you too.” 

Haruka wonders if Makoto truly doesn’t realize everything he’s already done for him.

“You’ve already saved me,” he says softly.

“Eh?!” Makoto’s eyes widen, and he looks at Haruka in surprise.

Haruka sighs. “You came back for me. You took me away from that place. And before that . . . when we first met . . .” He stops, unsure of how to describe the way Makoto’s smile had brought light into his darkness, how it had pulled him from the abyss of despair, had filled the hole inside him. There are too many words to say, and he can’t pick out which ones would be the most right, so in the end, he just stands there, staring at the ground.

“Haru . . .”

But Haruka wants to explain. He wants Makoto to understand. He takes a step back, completely forgetting how very naked he is, missing the flush on Makoto’s cheeks, as he concentrates on how to phrase things.

“Um, Haru . . .”

“I don’t want to tell you about what happened to me, because you’re the sun and I’m buried deep in the ocean where light can’t touch me, and I don’t want you to drown trying to get to me.” Haruka frowns, wondering if that’s descriptive enough. He glances up at Makoto, who’s staring at him with wide eyes still and a slack jaw. “It’s just . . . better if you leave it alone.”

Makoto shakes his head slowly. “But you’re in pain. I can tell. I can’t accept just leaving it be.”

Haruka sighs, turning away. He finally makes his way into the pond, the water still warm from the hot day. He hears someone entering the water behind him, as he swims toward the middle. His feet still touch the sand and dirt beneath, the water level rising to his shoulders. When he turns, he sees Makoto a few feet from him, his expression worried. His shoulders are bare, and Haruka wonders briefly if he’s naked as well. A flush heats his neck, and he turns his gaze away, ducking under the water to wet his hair.

When he resurfaces, Makoto is closer, and Haruka’s breath catches in his throat, as his friend reaches out to touch his cheek.

“Haru, please.”

Haruka can’t stand the hurt and confusion in Makoto’s eyes, in the sound of his voice. Is what he’s doing wrong? But protecting Makoto can never be wrong. He struggles to think of a way to distract them, to direct the conversation elsewhere.

“Why did you apologize?” he blurts before he can think better of such a question.

“What?” Makoto asks, the previous expressions melting away into confusion.

Haruka’s heart flutters nervously, but he’s already spoken so he knows he now owes Makoto an explanation. “When . . . I kissed you. The night before the choosing.”

Makoto looks at him, and for the first time Haruka can’t read his expression. He’s no longer an open book, and Haruka feels panic rise, his heart pounding faster, stuttering and crashing.

Then Makoto sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I felt guilty,” he admits softly, running his hand along the top of the water between them. “I had a feeling we’d be separated, and there you were expressing feelings I wouldn’t be able to return.”

_So that’s it then. He doesn’t feel the same as I do._

The realization comes with both relief and painful disappointment. He finally has his answer, but it wasn’t the one he’d wanted.

Makoto smiles sadly. “I wish you would’ve kissed me earlier,” he says, chuckling softly, as he rubs the back of his neck.

Haruka pauses, narrowing his eyes slightly. “What do you mean?”

Before Makoto can reply, a shout startles them both.

“MAKO-CHAN! HARU-CHAN!”

They both turn to see Nagisa barreling toward them, ripping off his clothes with a grin, before throwing himself into the water, curled into a ball. The water ripples in response, splashing over Makoto and Haruka. Makoto flinches, a sheepish laugh issuing from his lips, and he grabs Nagisa’s arm as the boy pops back up, pulling him close to ruffle his hair.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks good-naturedly.

“I came to tell you that dinner is ready, but the water looked so good I had to jump in!”

Haruka hides his annoyance at being interrupted, the wide smile that’s sitting so easily on Nagisa’s face making his presence tolerable. Haruka is glad Nagisa is happy, he truly is. He struggled greatly in Rei’s absence to try and help the boy feel better, though nothing seemed to work.

He glances toward the shore, seeing Rei standing there, watching them with a small smile. Nagisa waves at him, beckoning.

“Rei-chan! Come swim with us!”

“I don’t swim,” Rei says, shaking his head.

“It’s not deep! Your head doesn’t even need to go under!”

Rei looks skeptical, but he strips to his loincloth, cautiously entering the pond. Nagisa peels away from Makoto, grabbing Rei’s hand to pull him deeper into the water, before dunking him under with a laugh. Rei surfaces with a sputter.

“Nagisa-kun!” he exclaims in indignation, his glasses now wet. He stands, looking quite similar to a pouting puppy, while Nagisa continues to laugh.

“Haru.” Makoto touches Haruka’s shoulder lightly, speaking softly beneath the sounds of Rei and Nagisa’s banter. “I’m a really good swimmer.”

Haruka blinks, wondering how that’s relevant.

Makoto smiles faintly. “So I don’t think I’ll drown,” he continues, and Haruka realizes he’s referring to his analogy earlier.

He ducks beneath the water before Makoto can see his face flushing, and when he breaks the surface once more he can disguise the tears as pond water dripping down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: fluff, dancing, and confessions


	3. Written in the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, sorry this took so long, but this ended up as a monstrous nearly 10k words and yeah.
> 
> I hope you all know good dentists because the following sappiness will rot your teeth for sure.

Farmer Hazuki insists on Makoto and Haruka staying with him and his son, and neither have a reason to object. They fall into an easy routine, Makoto and Haruka assisting Hazuki with his work around the farm. Nagisa and Rei do their best to help as well but are more often than not found sneaking away to be together. None of them can fault the two, however, and Hazuki seems pleased to know his son has someone who makes him happy.

The villagers catch wind of Makoto’s return and the cottage is often full of visitors, exclaiming over Nagisa, welcoming Makoto and Rei, and expressing disappointment at Kisumi’s absence. They greet Haruka warmly, but he can’t help but feel out of place, and often retreats to his and Makoto’s room while the neighbors visit with Hazuki and the rest.

He knows he should be gratified that Makoto’s kindness has made him new friends, and the stories the villagers tell of how Makoto and Kisumi helped with their crops and repairs do make him proud of his friend. But the constant reminders of how Makoto and Kisumi were together (in some sense of the word) often become too much for him.

One night, after changing into the sleeping tunic Makoto purchased for him (along with several other articles of clothing, despite Haruka’s silent protests), he lies on the bed beside his friend and asks the question that’s been burning in his mind ever since he laid eyes on Kisumi.

“How did you and he even meet?”

It takes Makoto a moment to realize whom he means, before he smiles sheepishly. “He was my comrade in arms in the military. He was there when I began my training, and he helped me with my routines so I wouldn’t fall behind. Once . . . once the fighting started, he stayed by my side, taking down Nekorans before I had the chance to. He . . . protected me, I suppose.”

Haruka’s stomach twists, but he doesn’t interrupt, reminding himself that Kisumi is gone now.

“I was really grateful to him,” Makoto continues. “There was so much death and destruction all around us, but he kept it from touching me. But then I-I . . . something happened. I can’t remember the details, but Kisumi was pinned down and I-I had to help.” He shuts his eyes, pain resting heavily on his features. “I killed a man. I stopped him from hurting Kisumi, but afterwards I-I froze. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see anything but the blood.”

He inhales shakily, and Haruka reaches out, touching Makoto’s cheek lightly. He strokes it soothingly with his thumb, hoping to reassure his friend. Makoto opens his eyes, smiling gratefully.

“He pulled me up and we stole a horse,” Makoto admits. “We left the army then and there. Kisumi said he wasn’t going to let the war ruin me. He’s not a bad person, Haruka. I’m not sure why you dislike him so much. He saved my life. If it wasn’t for him, we-we might not’ve found each other again.”

Haruka doesn’t want to think of that. He doesn’t want to be indebted to Kisumi of all people. He believes that’s the end of it and moves closer to press his forehead against Makoto’s chest, ready to fall asleep. Makoto doesn’t immediately wrap his arm around Haruka, however. Bemused, Haruka leans back to look into Makoto’s face and notices the anxiety there.

“Makoto?”

“I’m not perfect.”

Haruka blinks, startled by this admission, wondering what he means by it.

“What you said before, about me being sunlight . . . I just, I don’t want you to think I’m this perfect angelic being or something akin to that. I’m human. I-I’ve done bad things. I had to steal while on the run. I-I killed that man in battle. One of my own people. I have blood on my hands, Haru. So if you’re afraid of your wounds staining me, I just want you to know that I can handle it.”

Haruka stares at Makoto; more convinced than ever that his friend is a gift from the gods themselves, and he’s not even sure he believes in the gods.

Makoto sighs softly, and his hand lifts to cradle the side of Haruka’s face. Haruka feels the touch burn through him, low and warm at first before growing more intense as it spreads to his chest. He parts his lips, and Makoto watches expectantly.

In the end the words don’t come, instead the tears do, and before Haruka realizes it he’s weeping and Makoto is holding him close, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words into his ear. Haruka allows himself to break, to fall apart in Makoto’s embrace, and his friend doesn’t shy away, only grips him tight and reassures him over and over again.

“I’m here. I’m here. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

Haruka can’t describe why exactly he’s crying. It feels like a culmination of past and present pain, mixed with relief and an aching _longing_.

_Please love me back. I would do anything to be yours. I need you. I need you._

Makoto’s breath is warm against his ear, and Haruka trembles, curling his fingers into Makoto’s sleeping tunic, tugging on it as if to pull himself closer.

“I love you.” The words escape before Haruka can catch them. He stifles a sob, burying his face deeper into Makoto’s chest as his body shudders. “I love you.”

“Haru . . .”

Makoto tries to push him away, probably to reject him, so Haruka clings more desperately to him, refusing to move. Makoto tries again, but finally relents with a sigh, stroking the back of Haruka’s head then, gently.

“I love you too, Haru,” he says quietly, easily, as though it’d already been on the tip of his tongue.

_But that’s not the way I meant._

Haruka simply shakes his head, not wanting to deal with all these emotions anymore. He heaves a shaky sigh, forcing his body to relax until he drifts into a fitful sleep.

 

***

 

A week passes and the villagers decide to hold a celebration in honor of Nagisa’s return. At first, Haruka refuses to attend. The thought of so many people pressing together with shouts and cheers and so much _noise_ repels him. He would rather spend the night in the pond, preferably with Makoto, just listening to the crickets and watching the stars. But after Nagisa begs with his signature pout, Makoto joining in, Haruka finds himself reluctantly agreeing to go, if only to stay by Makoto’s side.

A few villagers set up a large bonfire, and people bring in as much food and wine as they can carry. Some others bring instruments and group together to discuss which songs to play. Poles are set up in a circle around the gathering, connected together by wires from which hang colorful lanterns.

Without his jewelry and concubine attire, Nagisa looks as though he belongs among the farmers, yet something about him still sets him apart. It’s the graceful way he walks, perhaps. Or the pure joy in his laughter. Rei remains by his side as they mingle, smiling politely and introducing himself as Nagisa’s one and only. This title makes Nagisa beam brighter, until his face is almost as radiant as the fire.

Haruka turns away from the sight, not understanding the aching twist in his stomach. He’s happy for Nagisa, so he’s not sure why the sight of the two of them together makes him so uncomfortable, so irritated. It’s only when he glances over at Makoto, conversing easily with two villagers, laughing at something they said, that he realizes it’s jealousy.

He wants _Makoto_ to walk around with _him_ , telling people he’s Haruka’s one and only.

Makoto looks up, catching Haruka’s gaze. He smiles, but Haruka turns away quickly, heat rising up his neck toward his face. Pushing the embarrassment down as best he can, he walks over to where the musicians have finished setting up. They begin to play, a lively tune which immediately has people clapping and stomping their feet. A few bolder ones rush forward to begin dancing around the fire, hands twisting in the air, hips swaying, laughter on their lips.

Nagisa grabs Rei, tugging him over to the dancing circle despite his protests. But Nagisa’s enthusiasm is contagious as always, and soon Rei is twirling him around, laughing with him.

The villagers welcome them into the circle, and there’s no choreography, no synchronization between each dancer. One man is spinning around and around, eyes lifted to the sky, hands spread out like wings. A woman and her child are skipping around the fire, swinging joined hands. A group of children are stomping and shouting, their hands clapping and then waving above their heads.

It’s chaos, but through it all Haruka can see that they’re still connected by the beat of the music. No one is out of rhythm or struggling to keep up.

It’s freedom.

Haruka watches with renewed interest, and soon finds himself drawing closer to the fire. He remains on the outskirts of the circle, but he closes his eyes, allowing the music to flow through him. His feet move, his hips begin to sway. He spins once, twice, arms twisting into the air. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but it feels right. The heat of the fire burns against his face, but then the cool night air soothes it as he turns away. This pattern repeats, as he turns, his feet tapping an unfamiliar pattern with the guidance of the unfamiliar music, yet he recognizes this feeling, this feeling that has been so elusive for so long.

He can feel someone’s eyes on him, and he pauses, glancing over to meet Makoto’s gaze. His friend grins back at him, and the adoration Haruka sees in his eyes is so strong, Haruka feels the urge to look away. He does, but only to settle his gaze on Makoto’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you stop,” Makoto says apologetically, still smiling broadly. “You just looked so free and . . . happy.”

Happy?

Haruka glances back at Makoto’s face, studying the open expression of delight. He realizes there is something that can make this night better, can make his dancing feel complete. Moving forward quickly, he grabs Makoto’s wrist and pulls him toward the musicians.

“He can sing,” he tells them over the sound of the instruments.

Makoto yelps. “H-Haru! I can’t sing!”

Haruka shoots him a withering glance. “Yes, you can. You’ve always been the best at singing.”

“But-but I haven’t sung in front of anyone in years! I don’t even remember any of the songs from school.”

Haruka sighs, wondering why he must be so difficult. “Then sing a song from your village,” he prompts.

Makoto blinks. “But my village—” He stops, pain flickering over his features, startling Haruka. He narrows his eyes, wondering what his friend isn’t telling him. But Makoto turns instead to the musicians, one of whom had stopped playing to listen to them.

“Do you happen to know ‘My Love is a River’?” Makoto asks this one, and the man grins.

“Of course I do!” he exclaims. “Who in Nekor doesn’t?”

Haruka’s never heard of it, but he steps back as the last of the notes from the previous song fades away, and Makoto takes his place beside the musicians. He clears his throat, looking nervous. His fingers twist together, and he looks to Haruka with wide eyes.

Haruka gives him a nod, hoping it’s encouraging. The dancers have stopped, waiting for the music to begin again, watching expectantly. Makoto glances toward the musicians beside him, giving them a small nod. They begin to play, a softer, sweeter melody than before. Makoto looks toward Haruka briefly, before clasping his hands together and closing his eyes, beginning to sing.

“ _My love is a river_  
_Flowing from my soul_  
_This quickly rushing stream_  
_That I cannot control._

 _“Please tell me that you feel it_  
_Moving fast between us_  
_With all my fears and worries_  
_With all my care and trust._

 _“Please step into this river_  
_Accept it with your heart_  
_So we can be together_  
_And never be apart.”_

Haruka forgets to dance, though others have begun to pair off, swaying and moving in gentler rhythms than before. He barely notices, as his gaze is fixed on Makoto’s face. His friend is frowning slightly in concentration, but the words move pure and clear from his lips, and Haruka’s heart pounds faster.

The last verse repeats, and Makoto opens his eyes, catching Haruka’s gaze. Haruka feels the urge to look away, to run and hide, perhaps, because the intensity in Makoto’s expression is tearing him open, burning through muscle and bone to find his heart, searing it until it aches.

_Why did you choose this song, Makoto? Are you singing these words to me?_

But that’s an absurd thought. It’s simply a widely known song, a song Makoto knew the musicians would recognize.

Makoto gestures for the musicians to continue, and one of the others picks up the song, his voice deep and powerful, bringing a new atmosphere to the song. Where Makoto’s voice is spring and a babbling brook, this man is summer and thick honey. While he begins the song anew, Makoto approaches Haruka with a faint grin.

“May I have this dance?” he asks. He holds out his hand and tilts his head to the side, closing his eyes, as his smile widens.

Haruka’s heart flutters.

“You don’t even like dancing,” Haruka reminds him, remembering all those stumbles and falls in the classroom.

“But you do,” Makoto says, opening his eyes to look at Haruka. He steps closer, his hand still suspended in the air between them.

“ _Please tell me that you feel it  
Moving fast between us . . .”_

Haruka places his hand in Makoto’s, staring down at it as Makoto’s fingers curl around it, giving it a small squeeze. He finds himself being led back into the circle, and Makoto pulls him close, setting his other hand on Haruka’s waist. Blinking, Haruka places his free hand on Makoto’s arm, confusion curling through him.

“What is this?” he asks, not recognizing the stance.

“It’s how couples used to dance in my village,” he says.

The past tense isn’t lost on Haruka, and he frowns slightly. “Used to?”

Makoto looks away, down at their feet, muttering numbers under his breath as he begins to move them, pushing Haruka back as he steps forward, feet moving in cadence with the song, the dips and falls of it. Haruka clings to Makoto, not wanting to fall over. Makoto’s steps are unusually steady for someone who knocked over an entire row of boys back in their dancing class.

“Makoto.”

Makoto still won’t look at him, and frustration builds in Haruka. Doesn’t he realize that this friendship is supposed to go two ways? Like all friendships? Makoto can’t only be there for Haruka. Haruka needs to be there for Makoto too, and he _wants_ to be. But Makoto never seems to allow himself to feel pain in front of Haruka.

_Is he protecting me just as I’m protecting him?_

The realization hits him with a start, and he freezes, Makoto bumping into him lightly.

“Haru?”

Makoto lifts his gaze, and Haruka releases his holds on his friend’s arm and hand, taking his face in both hands instead, in order to look seriously into Makoto’s eyes.

“What happened to your village?”

Makoto’s face crumples, tears filling his eyes. A flicker of panic enters Haruka’s chest, but he pushes it down, telling himself that he needs to be there for Makoto. He needs to listen to him, comfort him.

Without waiting for a reply, Haruka takes Makoto’s hand, leading him away from the bonfire and the rest of the celebration, walking away from the village, leaving behind the laughter and music in favor of the quiet hills, pastures full of grass and dozing sheep. He climbs the fence of one such pasture, Makoto following him silently.

The noise of the crickets grows louder, as the sounds of the festivities fade into the distance. A few sheep bleat softly, as the two boys pass, and Makoto brushes his hand over the tops of their heads in a light, reassuring gesture.

They come to a stop on the crest of a hill, and Haruka moves to sit in the grass, pulling his legs up underneath him. Makoto settles beside him, and together they stare back down toward the light of the bonfire and the blue and green of the lanterns.

Makoto inhales shakily, bringing his knees to his chest. He briefly rests his forehead against them, and Haruka waits silently, his patience always increasing tenfold when it comes to Makoto.

“After we left the army, the first place we went to was my village,” Makoto says, and his voice is soft, barely breaking the peace that had settled around them. “I was so nervous and excited to see my family again. But there . . . there’d been a raid. There was nothing left of it. The houses had been burned to the ground. The-the crops and fields emptied. All the animals and people were dead or gone.”

Haruka swallows, his chest aching. He reaches out to touch Makoto’s shoulder lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Makoto glances over at him, a sad smile tilting his lips. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. You already have so much pain; I didn’t want to burden you with mine as well. Besides, it’s been almost four years since then. It’s not . . . it’s not as bad as it used to be.” He shakes his head. “It helps to have you here, too. I’m so happy to have you back in my life. You and Nagisa . . . and now Rei. You’re my family. My home. Knowing that helps me wake up each morning with joyful heart.”

He smiles again, and this time it’s warm and genuine. Haruka stares at it a moment before looking back toward the lights below.

_It goes two ways._

“After we were separated,” he begins quietly, “I didn’t think I could feel pain anymore. Being torn from you . . . I felt as though that was it. I-I didn’t feel human anymore. I didn’t feel like myself. I was numb, empty, l-lost.” He draws his knees up to his chest, feeling Makoto’s concerned gaze on him but ignoring it. He knows if he looks over he’ll lose his nerve, and he wants to tell him everything. Makoto opened up to him, and he feels it’s the least he can do, despite his reservations.

“The prince . . . he did things to me. Had me do things to him,” Haruka continues, curling his fingers into the material of his pantaloons. This is the worst part, talking about what Rin had done. But he owes Makoto an explanation for his nightmares, an apology for the times he struck out at him in the dark.

And he needs to remind himself of why a relationship between them won’t work, to soothe the pain of Makoto’s previous rejection.

“He had no regard for my comfort. He . . . he treated me worse than a dog. You don’t do those sorts of things to dogs.” He shakes his head, unable to bring himself to go into details, however. “But I was able to endure it simply because without you . . . I wasn’t me. It wasn’t happening to me. It was happening to someone else. But then he wanted me to do something to myself and I . . . I couldn’t do it. I told him no. He threatened to find you and make you his-his slave instead. I couldn’t let that happen, so I attacked him. They sent me to the dungeon, after giving me these scars on my back.”

“Haru . . .”

Makoto breathes his name, horror and pain seeping into the single word. Haruka purses his lips, thinking that should explain enough, already feeling drained from speaking so many words. He falls silent, continuing to stare straight ahead, not wanting to see pity on Makoto’s face. Or worse, disgust.

 _Makoto would never be disgusted with you_.

He flinches at this thought and spares a glance to his right, where Makoto sits staring at him. His green eyes are wide and full of tears, and already they are spilling down his cheeks. Haruka blinks, not having expected that sight.

“Why are you crying?” he asks dumbly.

“Because that’s horrible!” Makoto wails. “They never should’ve done that to you, any of them! Poor Haru-chan.”

He moves closer, arms lifting to gather Haruka in a hug. But then he stops, freezes, and his eyes widen further. Panic surges through Haruka, because he can tell what Makoto is thinking. He knows that his friend is wondering if it’s all right to touch him, if it’ll help to hold him or make things worse. The thought of Makoto never touching him again rips his chest, tearing into his heart, agony searing through it. Haruka flings himself forward, toppling them both into the grass, as he wraps his arms around Makoto’s neck.

“Don’t you dare stop touching me,” he whispers viciously into Makoto’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut, as his heart thumps pathetically in rhythm with his ragged breath.

Makoto hesitates, but then his arms are around him, holding him close. Haruka remembers how Makoto promised he could handle his pain, and Haruka’s doubts begin to slip away, because Makoto’s arms are steady, and his breaths don’t waver, as he begins to stroke the back of Haruka’s head, fingers gliding through his hair. A shiver runs through Haruka’s body, and he pulls back slightly in order to look down into Makoto’s face.

Those green eyes are still wet, cheeks damp, but the pain in his expression has faded to concern and affection. Makoto lifts his hand off Haruka’s head, moving it instead to the side of his face to hold it, stroking his thumb along Haruka’s cheekbone. Haruka’s heart is stuttering, stumbling and quivering. He inhales shakily, watching Makoto’s face and wishing, not for the first time, that he could read his mind.

Makoto’s thumb moves to glide along his jawline, moving his hand forward across his face. The light touch sends tingles across his skin, heat prickling and then spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. He can only stare with wide eyes down at Makoto, watching as Makoto’s gaze grows hazy, his eyelids lowering slightly.

Then Makoto’s thumb brushes across Haruka’s lips, and Haruka stops breathing.

“Haru . . .”

Haruka recognizes that look. It’s the same look Rin gave him whenever he stepped into the prince’s chambers. A look of want and desire, though in Makoto’s gaze it’s tempered with something else. His gaze isn’t piercing like Rin’s. It’s not intrusive; it doesn’t dig into Haruka’s skin with relentless hunger. It glides over his face, not dropping below his chin. Rin’s eyes always ate at Haruka’s body, devouring him without a thought to how uncomfortable it made Haruka.

But Haruka doesn’t feel uncomfortable now. He knows Makoto isn’t looking at him like an object to use and then discard. His lips part, and Makoto’s thumb tugs gently at his bottom lip, before falling away. He sees now the nervous look in Makoto’s eyes, and Haruka feels his body trembling beneath his own.

“Ha-Haru,” he stammers, throat constricting. “Y-You . . . you should get off me.”

Haruka frowns, his breath returning in a huff of irritation. “Why?” he asks. He’s perfectly content lying here on top of his friend, feeling his warmth and the comfort of his arm around him.

Makoto hums anxiously, his gaze skittering to the side. “I-I . . . you . . .”

Then Haruka feels it, a slight pressure against his abdomen, a hardening bulge beneath Makoto’s pantaloons. Realization hits him, and he jerks back, practically flying off Makoto and scrambling back in the grass, eyes wide.

He did that to Makoto.

That has never happened before.

A small swell of pride begins to grow in his chest, until he sees Makoto’s horrified expression. Then it disappears and is replaced by frustration and annoyance.

Makoto sits up quickly, hands fluttering about in front of him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he exclaims. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m not trying to start anything, I swear!”

“It’s fine,” Haruka mutters, moving to stand.

 _“_ _You were expressing feelings I wouldn’t be able to return.”_

Makoto’s words from before ring in his ears, clanging against his mind in a persistent signal of warning. He knows he shouldn’t be this upset. He doesn’t even know if he can be intimate with Makoto. But just now . . . Makoto looked at him with desire and Haruka didn’t felt sick or afraid.

He felt . . .

He felt longing. Anticipation.

Want.

Makoto is standing, brushing himself off, his movements jittery and uncoordinated. He nearly trips over his own feet in his haste. Haruka watches, wondering if Makoto’s bodily reactions were simply because of the proximity of their hips or if something else was at play.

“Makoto.”

“Eh?” Makoto’s head whips around, his eyes still wide with worry.

“Why do you wish I’d kissed you earlier?”

Makoto looks confused for a moment, and Haruka wonders if he doesn’t remember their conversation from a week ago. Then his expression shifts, and he grimaces, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair agitatedly.

“That was so long ago, Haru . . .”

“I want to know.”

Makoto studies Haruka, taking in his serious eyes, the firm set of his lips. He bites his own lip, and Haruka braces himself, though he’s not entirely sure what for.

“I . . . I wish you’d kissed me earlier so that we could have been together,” he admits, his hands raising to the side and then falling back down. “I-I was in love with you, Haru. But I never knew if you might feel the same until you kissed me. And by then it was too late.” He sighs, broad shoulders slumping.

Haruka stares, wondering if he’s hearing correctly.

Makoto had been in love with him the entire time? How had Haruka not seen it? He wonders if he’d been too caught up in his own anxiety over his developing feelings to notice. Makoto never stopped being affectionate, never stopped caring for him as he always had, so perhaps that’s why Haruka never noticed the shift.

“You should have told me,” Haruka says, and inwardly grimaces at how accusatory he sounds.

Makoto winces, looking away. “I’m sorry. I was a coward.” He sighs again, scuffing his toe against the grass. “I know you’re mad, and I won’t blame if you if you decide to hate me for ruining what could have been a great thing, but please don’t stop being my friend. I-I need you.”

Haruka blinks, his irritation slipping away like water through his fingers. “I’m not mad,” he says, and he realizes that he truly isn’t. But there’s an ache in his chest that he wants to rid himself of, only he can’t think of a way to do so.

“Do you not feel that way anymore?” he asks then, deciding to be direct, wanting to know for sure either way. He’s tired of dancing around this issue. He wants peace, one way or another.

Makoto bites his lip, glancing toward the festival. “I don’t want to be a coward anymore,” he says, shaking his head, before looking back at Haruka. “I was afraid to mention anything, because I knew you’ve been through a lot and I didn’t want you to worry about my feelings on top of everything else. But . . . I-I _am_ still in love you, Haru. I’m sorry.”

Haruka stares, confused by this type of confession, even as his heart begins to pound faster. “Why are you apologizing?” he asks.

Makoto looks back at him, eyes wide. “I . . . because you don’t need this right now! You’re still hurting from what happened to you. I need to be here as your friend! I can’t be pressuring you to return my feelings, it would be insensitive and wrong!” He’s shaking his head, and all Haruka can do is roll his eyes, because honestly how _oblivious_ can Makoto _be_?

“Stop talking,” he instructs, stepping forward and grabbing the front of Makoto’s kaftan with both hands, pulling his torso down in order to press his lips firmly against Makoto’s.

His mouth muffles Makoto’s strangled yelp, and for a moment neither of them move. Haruka pulls back slowly, hearing the blood rushing in his ears. He steps away, though he keeps his fingers curled into Makoto’s kaftan to keep them from trembling. His pulse presses into his throat, threatening to choke him, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he can’t read Makoto’s expression, as Makoto stares back at him with large eyes full of shock.

“Ha-Haru?”

“I’m still in love with you too,” Haruka murmurs, shifting his gaze to the side, staring at celebratory lights below the hill.

There’s no reply, and so he forces himself to look back at Makoto’s face. Immediately he feels his breath catch in his throat, as Makoto is beaming at him with such joy and unadulterated love, he staggers back under the weight of it, a burning sensation tickling the back of his neck and his ears.

“You’re truly still in love with me, Haru-chan?” Makoto asks in wonder, as though he can’t believe it.

Haruka coughs lightly, turning his face away again, wishing it would stop feeling so hot. “Don’t call me ‘-chan’,” he grumbles, because he honestly can’t think of anything else to say. He can practically feel Makoto’s love permeating off him like sunbeams bursting through rain clouds.

Or like a river rushing between them.

Makoto laughs, delighted. He grabs Haruka’s hand, tugging him closer. Haruka complies, his heart shaking his chest in a nervous rhythm. He looks up at Makoto, as he lifts his free hand, brushing his fingers through Haruka’s hair slowly.

“I’ve wasted so much time. I’m sorry,” Makoto says then softly, his grin fading to an apologetic smile.

Haruka shakes his head, because four years and a few months is nothing compared to the future ahead of them. Makoto leans forward, pressing his forehead gently against Haruka’s, closing his eyes. Haruka does the same, fingers intertwining with Makoto’s.

He isn’t sure how long they stay there, beneath the stars on top of that hill, surrounded by disinterested sheep. Makoto’s fingers move through his hair, and Haruka lifts free hand to touch his own fingers to Makoto’s cheek, simply laying them there, before he lets his hand fall to the side of Makoto’s neck.

Their warm breaths mingle, noses brushing lightly with each rise and fall of their chests. A cool breeze passes by, and Haruka shivers. Makoto pulls him closer then, into his chest, wrapping his arms around him. He rests his head against the top of Haruka’s, breathing a quiet sigh that rattles his chest. Haruka feels it tremor, and moves his arms beneath Makoto’s, gripping the back of his kaftan.

“This is going to sound incredibly sentimental,” Makoto says then with a soft laugh, brushing his lips back and forth against the top of Haruka’s head. “But I feel like this is destiny, you and I. The gods allowed us to find each other again, against all odds. Our story . . . I feel as though it’s been written in the stars, where our love can never fade.”

Haruka huffs, laughing before he can stop it. “You’re right,” he says, pulling back with a smile still twitching across his lips. “That’s incredibly sentimental.”

Makoto pouts, brushing a flyaway strand of Haruka’s hair behind his ear. “I was trying to be romantic,” he says.

Haruka is too happy to further tease him. It feels strange, this brightness in his chest. It feels light and airy, a severe contrast to the terrible ache he’d been experiencing ever since he first lost Makoto.

Makoto takes Haruka’s hand once more, lacing his fingers through his. “We should return,” he says then. “I don’t want Nagisa and Rei to worry about us.”

Haruka allows Makoto to pull him back down toward the village, despite feeling as though he could have remained on that hilltop all night.

 

***

 

The cottage is quiet. Everyone went to sleep ages ago, and yet Haruka remains awake, lying beside Makoto and listening to the even sound of his breaths. Nagisa and Rei were both exhausted after the celebration, and retired almost immediately. But not before they saw Haruka and Makoto holding hands and exclaimed over it, congratulating them. Haruka watched Makoto’s flustered expression, the way he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. It was endearing.

Then Nagisa ran into the bedroom he shared with Rei, returning with a small jar of oil. He thrust this toward Haruka with a mischievous grin that Haruka immediately distrusted.

“You can use this tonight, Haru-chan, Mako-chan,” he said, before getting pulled away by an apologetic Rei.

Haruka and Makoto both stared down at the jar, before realizing what it was for. Haruka’s neck flushed, his stomach twisting nervously, as Makoto leaped back with a yelp, shaking his head quickly.

“We don’t have to!” he cried, which left Haruka both relieved and annoyed, though he didn’t understand the latter emotion.

Now the jar sits on the table beside the bed, apparently forgotten by Makoto, who’d fallen asleep fairly quickly. But Haruka can’t seem to relax. He shifts, turning on his side with his back to Makoto. After a moment, he turns again, burying his face in the pillow. Then he turns back around to face the ceiling, glowering at it as though it personally is responsible for his restlessness.

The truth is, he can’t stop thinking about that moment on the hill when he’d felt Makoto’s desire through his clothing, seen the want in Makoto’s eyes and felt his own body respond to it. He hadn’t felt afraid. But he worries that it was a fluke; that he’d simply been caught up in the emotions of the scene. And then Makoto told him to get off, not giving him time to register whether or not he wanted to react negatively or positively to the situation.

He glances over at the oil, wondering what it would be like to feel Makoto behind him instead of Rin. Would he move roughly or would he be gentle? Haruka can’t imagine Makoto being anything other than gentle. Would that gentleness help? Or would terror still shake his bones, rattling him? His heart begins to beat faster, tightness stretching across his chest. He’d never be afraid of Makoto. It’s not possible.

But how can he know for sure? How can he be positive that Makoto being back there, touching him in that way, won’t send him into a pit of darkness, won’t make him numb and ill and humiliated all at once?

Suddenly frantic, Haruka sits up, reaching over to grab Makoto’s arm, shaking him violently.

“Makoto. Makoto!”

Makoto’s eyes open, unfocused and bleary. Then he blinks and when he registers who is shaking him, he sits up quickly, grabbing Haruka’s arms.

“Haru! Haru, are you all right? Is it another nightmare?”

Haruka shakes his head, and his heart is in this throat, cutting off speech. He swallows hard, attempting to push it down. “I need you to touch me,” he says, his voice strained.

Makoto blinks, confusion and concern etched across his features. “I . . . what?”

Haruka doesn’t elaborate. He simply grabs Makoto’s hand, guiding it underneath the hem of his sleep tunic. Comprehension flashes in Makoto’s eyes, and he rips his hand away, leaving Haruka grasping at air.

“Haru! I can’t just . . . I can’t just _do_ that!”

“Please, I-I need to know,” Haruka begs, though he doesn’t try to take Makoto’s hand again. He’s not going to force him, but he doesn’t know how to explain himself. His breaths are coming out faster, forcing their way painfully through his compressed lungs. Makoto’s eyes widen, and he takes Haruka’s face in his hands.

“Haru, Haru, _breathe_ ,” he instructs, worry shifting across his features.

Haruka struggles to obey, inhaling deeply and then exhaling, but it doesn’t stop the pressure, and spots appear before his eyes.

“You’re all right, Haru. You’re all right. Just breathe. Come on, love, _breathe_.”

The term of endearment startles Haruka into doing the exact opposite. He holds his breath, staring back at Makoto. Panic crosses Makoto’s features, and he lowers his hands to Haruka’s shoulders, shaking him gently.

“No, no, don’t do that. Breathe! Haru!”

The breath leaves Haruka’s lips in a rush, and he realizes that it’s easier that time. His racing heartbeat starts to slow, as he continues to stare into Makoto’s face. Then he leans forward, pressing his forehead against Makoto’s shoulder, as he inhales shakily, letting the air flow out slowly, trying to relax. Makoto’s hands move to his back, rubbing up and down soothingly, which helps.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Makoto asks after a moment, and Haruka can hear the concern in his voice.

“I . . .” How can he explain himself? “I’ve wanted you for so long. But I’m . . . afraid . . .”

Makoto sighs. “That it’ll be like when you were with the prince?” he asks softly.

Haruka nods.

“I can’t tell you how you’ll feel,” Makoto says apologetically, trailing his fingertips along Haruka’s spine. “But I can promise that I will never rush you or demand anything from you. I’ll always do my best not to hurt you, and if we don’t ever do it . . . that’s all right too.”

“But I _want_ to do it.”

“But it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Haruka sighs. “Yes, it does.” He pulls away to look at Makoto with some frustration, knowing he shouldn’t be irritated by Makoto’s lack of comprehension. Makoto doesn’t know what it was like.

“Why?” Makoto asks softly, staring back at Haruka, trying to understand.

_I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want these nightmares. I want to replace them with good memories. I don’t want to think of intercourse and relive the pain and humiliation. I want to think of it and see your face and feel your love._

All this jumbles through his mind, overlapping, tugging at his chest, more feelings than words but then fear cuts through all of it, because what if . . .

“Do you . . . do you not want it?” he asks softly, realizing he hadn’t even considered that. Guilt twists through him, and he’s relieved when Makoto quickly shakes his head.

“Of course I do! By the gods, Haru . . .” He sighs shakily, pushing his hair back from his head and gripping the strands, as he stares back at Haruka. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted it with. But that’s why I want to do it right. I don’t want it to be an experiment. I want it to be an expression of our love.”

Haruka frowns, contemplating that a moment, before nodding. “All right,” he says.

Makoto watches him, gaze flickering nervously across Haruka’s features. “All right?” he repeats uncertainly.

Haruka leans forward, placing his hand gently against the side of Makoto’s face. He strokes his thumb across Makoto’s cheek, before he brings them together to place a gentle kiss on Makoto’s mouth. Makoto murmurs in surprise, but then his hand comes up to cup Haruka’s face, and he returns the kiss slowly.

Haruka feels a shudder shake his chest, as their lips glide smoothly over each other. Then Makoto parts his lips, and his warm breath caresses Haruka’s mouth. Haruka opens for it, inhaling it. It tastes of wine, though Haruka can’t remember if Makoto partook of any during the celebration. Deciding it doesn’t matter, he catches Makoto’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down lightly. Makoto inhales sharply, and Haruka suppresses a smile.

He moves forward, crawling into Makoto’s lap, straddling his hips. He lays his free hand on Makoto’s shoulder, the other sliding back into the soft brown hair, gripping softly. Makoto’s arm encircles his waist, pressing him against his chest. Haruka can feel the steady beat of his heart, though it begins to quicken after a moment, as their lips continue to move, tentatively teasing, each trying to get a feel for what the other enjoys most.

Haruka inches his tongue forward, sliding it across Makoto’s bottom lip, before dipping it forward into Makoto’s mouth. It’s met with Makoto’s tongue immediately, wet and hot, and Haruka has to stifle a moan. Already he can feel Makoto growing excited, the hardening bulge between his legs hard to ignore.

 _He’s a virgin_ , Haruka remembers with a jolt.

He pulls back, looking into Makoto’s eyes seriously. He feels warm all over, and he wants to continue. But he can’t be selfish. He waits, patiently, as Makoto struggles to catch his breath. Makoto’s eyes are dark and hazy, staring back at Haruka with unrestrained want. Haruka swallows hard, tilting his head.

Makoto seems to understand the unspoken question, and he nods quickly. “I want this,” he says firmly.

Haruka nods, relieved. He turns, reaching for the oil beside the bed, but Makoto catches his hand, stalling him. Confused by this conflicting message, Haruka glances back at Makoto, who’s shaking his head.

“Not yet,” he says, and with that he takes Haruka’s hips, lifting him off him and laying him against the bed.

Haruka blinks, eyes widening as Makoto leans over him with a soft smile, bending to place wet lips against his neck, hands starting to gather Haruka’s tunic up his thighs and hips. He shivers as the cool night air touches his heated skin, and he sits up to allow Makoto to remove the tunic completely. Makoto’s eyes rove over his body briefly, as Haruka lies back down. There’s lust in his expression, to be sure, but alongside that is wonderment and awe, and Haruka shifts, looking away.

“You’re so beautiful,” Makoto says, his voice catching on the words.

Unsure of how to respond, Haruka chooses to say nothing, closing his eyes, trembling. Rin used to say the same thing. But his voice was always full of hunger. Makoto sounds as though he’s about to cry.

 _Please don’t_ , Haruka begs silently, and thankfully what follows is Makoto’s lips once more against his neck, kissing the underside of his jaw. Biting his lip, Haruka clenches his fingers into the mattress beneath him, as Makoto’s warm mouth makes its way down the side of his neck to his shoulder.

He doesn’t feel any stirrings yet, but he expected this. He never got hard while with Rin, and the only time he had before that was after dreams of Makoto. He hopes that his body remembers those, not wanting to disappoint either of them.

Haruka closes his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Makoto’s lips moving across his flushed skin. The touch sends prickles of heat through him, but nothing sticks or spreads. His heartbeat has quickened, but other than that he doesn’t react.

Makoto’s lips are at his chest now, and his tongue flicks across a nipple. Oh. That does something. Haruka twitches, fingers flexing against the mattress. He feels a puff of warm breath from Makoto’s mouth, and then his tongue runs across his nipple again. Haruka shivers, digging his heels a little harder into the bed.

Makoto moves on then, though he rests his thumb against the wet, erect nipple, rubbing it gently, as his lips create wet patterns across Haruka’s stomach, traveling downward toward his navel. Haruka pants quickly, knowing what’s coming and trembling in anticipation.

Before he goes further, however, Makoto lifts his head to look up at Haruka. Haruka stares back at him, heart thudding in his throat.

“Is this all right, Haru?” Makoto asks softly, his voice lowered to a husky register. Just the sound of it makes Haruka’s knees weaken.

He can only nod quickly, and a gasp escapes as Makoto’s hand wraps around his length, and it disappears into Makoto’s mouth. Haruka stares, wide-eyed, as Makoto begins to suck, his eyes closing in concentration. The heat and friction shoot pleasure up his spine, bright and tingling. He can feel his body reacting, his toes curling, as his shaft begins to harden in Makoto’s mouth. He can feel Makoto’s tongue sliding over the veins, and he trembles.

Never before has he felt anything like this. It’s better than his own hand, what he can remember of it at least.

“M-Makoto.” He can’t stop the groan from escaping, and his fingers tug uselessly at the mattress.

Makoto lifts his head, Haruka’s now hard, glistening member slipping out of Makoto’s mouth with a faint _pop_. Makoto’s eyes are hooded, and as he crawls back up Haruka’s body, Haruka can’t move, his limbs quivering.

“Makoto,” he gasps, staring at those dark green eyes above him.

His entire body aches, but it’s different from what he’s used to. He’s flushed and panting, his heart hammering faster than he ever thought possible, straining against his chest as though trying to break free.

Makoto descends, pressing his lips against Haruka’s for a searing kiss, the intensity catching Haruka off-guard briefly, before he responds to it willingly. He pulls his hands from the mattress, wrapping his arms around Makoto’s neck and arching into him, his lips meeting the push and pull of Makoto’s mouth with matching urgency. He feels as though he’s drowning in Makoto, in his taste and smell and warmth.

_So this is what it feels like when sunlight hits the ocean._

“H-Haru. Haru,” Makoto moans against his mouth, his hips starting to rock gently against Haruka’s. Haruka’s length brushes against the bulge beneath Makoto’s tunic, and they both respond with a shuddering groan, thick with desire.

“N-need . . . Need you,” Haruka manages breathlessly, pressing his forehead against Makoto’s. All apprehension and fear have vanished from him. This is nothing like how it was with Rin. The two are so dissimilar, Haruka has no trouble banishing the old memories from his mind, at least in that moment. He doesn’t know if the nightmares will return later, but for now he’s blissfully surrounded by Makoto’s presence, and he feels _safe._

“I-I’m not sure what to do,” Makoto admits, as he props himself up on trembling arms, staring down at Haruka apologetically.

Haruka sighs, realizing he should have anticipated this. Still, it doesn’t bother him too much to reach for the oil beside the bed and hand it to Makoto. Makoto sits back on his heels, taking it with some uncertainty.

“Wait,” Haruka says then, sitting up and grabbing Makoto’s tunic. He lifts it over Makoto’s head, tossing it aside so they’re both fully naked. His eyes drop automatically to Makoto’s lap, assessing the erect member. It’s already dripping liquid, and it’s larger than Haruka remembers it being. He finds himself staring, until Makoto chuckles nervously.

“Um, Haru? You, ah . . .”

Haruka lifts his gaze, noting the embarrassment on Makoto’s face. He fights back a smile, leaning forward to press a light kiss against Makoto’s lips, before lying back down. He watches Makoto fumble with the stopper on the jar for a moment, before spilling the oil over his fingers. He rubs them together, before looking at Haruka’s face with apprehension.

“Are you sure?”

Haruka nods, pulling his knees up and out from under Makoto, spreading them to give him access. Makoto’s throat constricts, and he leans over, placing his fingers delicately against Haruka’s entrance. At the feel of the slick warmth, Haruka flinches, but only slightly. He trusts Makoto.

Makoto chews on his bottom lip, as he gently inserts a finger into Haruka. Haruka inhales sharply at the pressure, but he quickly exhales when he sees Makoto’s worried expression.

“Keep going,” he urges quietly, and after a moment Makoto complies, carefully thrusting his finger in and out.

Haruka presses his head back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling as he struggles to breathe. It’s different from Rin’s touch. It’s better. Rin rarely prepared him in this way. Makoto moves gently, as though he fears Haruka will break apart. It’s both endearing and irritating, because Haruka can feel him barely brushing against a spot that makes his entire being quiver, but Makoto’s too hesitant to search for it himself.

“More,” Haruka says, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his voice not as steady as he would like.

Makoto pauses, and then a second finger joins the first, and Haruka’s hips lift in response. He closes his eyes, doing his best to push down against Makoto’s hand, urging him on, silently begging him to locate that spot which will unravel him.

“Haru . . .”

Haruka opens his eyes, looking down to see Makoto watching him, his eyes thrown wide, his lips parted. Haruka reaches over, grabbing Makoto’s free hand and pulling him down, lifting his head to meet him in a kiss. He murmurs against Makoto’s lips, feeling him tremble as he begins to thrust his fingers once more. His confidence seems to grow, as he relaxes against Haruka, and his fingers press further into Haruka, causing him to groan in reflex.

“H-Haru,” Makoto breathes against Haruka’s lips. He turns his face into Haruka’s neck then, sighing deeply. “C-Can I feel you?”

Haruka nods, before realizing Makoto can’t see him. “ _Yes,_ ” he whispers, with a desperation that embarrasses him. His cheeks feel hot, and he looks away, as Makoto leans back, removing his fingers from inside him. He bites his lip, his hips relaxing into the bed. He starts to roll over onto his stomach, but a hand on his arm stops him.

“What are you doing?” Makoto asks hesitantly.

Haruka blinks at him, not understanding.

Makoto hesitates, before sitting back, grabbing Haruka around the waist and pulling him close. He reaches up to brush some of Haruka’s hair back, fingers lingering against the side of his face. “I-I want to look at you,” he admits quietly. “Is that all right?”

Haruka stares, swallowing past the lump in his throat. All he can do is nod, and Makoto carefully lays him back against the bed, grabbing the oil once more. His movements are more confident, though Haruka can see the trembling of his fingers. He coats his member generously, until it’s gleaming.

It’s only then that a flash of anxiety streaks through him, and when Makoto moves over him, Haruka reaches up to grasp his arms, gripping them tightly. Makoto pauses, regarding Haruka for a moment, before nodding. He takes one of Haruka’s hands, lifting it off his arm in order to kiss its palm, moving his lips down the length of the arm until he reaches Haruka’s neck. He presses his lips against it, licking the spot lightly, before continuing up until he reaches Haruka’s jaw.

Haruka breathes softly, closing his eyes and trying to relax. He’s aching for Makoto, to be sure. But this is the moment he dreads. The moment that will change everything. He wants to be ready for it, but his body begins to shake without his consent, and it’s not from pleasure or anticipation, it’s _fear_.

He hates it. He hates it with every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to be afraid. This is Makoto. _Makoto_.

He opens his eyes, pushing Makoto back in order to look at his face.

“Say my name,” he whispers, despising the distress in his voice.

But Makoto only smiles fondly, bending to brush his nose against Haruka’s. “Haru.”

He can hear the warmth in Makoto’s voice, the affection. The love. He stares up at Makoto, studying those green eyes, the curve of his jaw, the dampness of his hair resting against the sheen of sweat in front of his ears. This is the face of the man he loves. This is the touch of the man he loves.

He swallows hard, hoping Makoto understands what he needs.

“It’s all right, Haru. I’m here,” he says softly, lowering his hips against Haruka’s. He rocks gently, allowing their lengths to rub together, sending tremors down both their spines. “I’m here, Haru. I love you. I love you.”

His voice is calm, reassuring. Haruka can feel the fear fading, the pleasure spiking in its place, as Makoto continues to rock with slow, careful movements. Haruka wants to continue looking into Makoto’s face, but he feels his eyelids fluttering, closing. Prickles of heat course through him, a slow burn that starts in his abdomen and then spreads throughout his body.

Makoto’s lips rest against his ear, muttering more reassurances, as his hand moves to slide along Haruka’s thigh. He lifts it, wrapping Haruka’s leg around him, before positioning himself. Haruka inhales, tensing, but Makoto’s hand is massaging his thigh, and his constant ‘Harus’ and ‘I love yous’ continue, as he begins to push past Haruka’s resistance with a low moan.

The pain is immediate and sharp as Makoto stretches him. Haruka can’t contain the groan, the way his fingers grip tighter into Makoto’s skin. Makoto pauses, allowing Haruka to catch his breath.

“Are you all right?” he asks, concern lacing his strained tone, as he brushes his lips against Haruka’s ear.

Haruka struggles to control his breathing, to relax.

_Makoto. Makoto. Makoto._

His mind repeats this mantra, over and over, until Haruka nods, exhaling deeply. Makoto slowly begins again, pressing into him. He extracts himself then, before entering once more with a shallow thrust. Haruka grimaces, pressing his heel against the small of Makoto’s back. He’s going to need to go deeper to reach that spot again.

Makoto obeys this silent command, and his next thrusts are deep, yet still cautious, and Haruka moans. Makoto does the same, and Haruka lifts his hips, meeting the next thrust, which has them both groaning in pleasure. Makoto’s hand moves, wrapping around Haruka’s member to begin stroking it. He glides up and then back down, his grip firm. Haruka trembles, the heat growing stronger.

Makoto’s thumb runs along the tip, circling the head, eliciting drops of white liquid, as Haruka quakes. There’s no denying the pleasure now, and it’s overwhelming the ache, as it burns white hot and powerful.

_Is this what it’s like to touch the sun?_

Makoto moves faster, spurred on by Haruka’s moans. Both his hips and his hand start up a rhythm, and Haruka feels himself slipping. Makoto’s groans of ecstasy are loud in his ear, making his heart thump wildly.

“Haru, _Haru_.”

“Ah, _ah_ , M-Mako—” Haruka cuts off, as Makoto finally hits that spot, and fire erupts through him, evaporating him, sending him spiraling. His heels dig into the bed and Makoto’s back, as his hips fly upward, his back arching. “There. Makoto, _there_!”

Makoto pants heavily, his breath sliding down Haruka’s neck. He thrusts forward against that same spot again and again. Haruka feels the world tilting, his thoughts scattering, as his mind fills with nothing but the sound of Makoto’s labored breaths, the feel of his warm body, slick with sweat, sliding over him, and the heat, the incredible heat that’s surging through him, lifting him higher and higher.

He’s rushing past layers of water; he can feel the pressure in his ears. More liquid spills from the head of his length, and Makoto’s grip falters, before picking up speed. His thrusts match this new pace, and Haruka cries out, as he breaks the surface of the ocean, bursting into the blinding light of the sun. For one breathtaking moment, he’s no longer in his body; he’s transcended and as he rises, he fuses with another soul, spiraling up alongside him. The intensity scorches through him, but it’s not an unpleasant pain, and he hears another cry, and feels a rush of something enter him, smooth and hot.

His body rocks with the strength of the climax, and he feels tears slide down his cheeks unbidden, because finally, _finally_ he’s broken through his barriers and merged with the pure radiance of his sun.

Then suddenly he’s back on earth, panting and quivering on the bed, unable to control the small spasms that twitch along his body. He feels the weight of Makoto collapsed on top of him, but he’s too weak to push him off. Not that he wants to.

Makoto lifts his head, his own body trembling, as he wearily detaches himself, flopping onto the mattress beside Haruka. Haruka reaches for his hand, and he clasps it tightly. Together they lie in silence for some time, listening to the crickets singing outside the window. When had that started? Had they been chirping the entire time?

“Haru—” Makoto starts, and then stops. He seems at a loss for words.

Haruka understands.

Despite his exhaustion, he turns, burying his face into Makoto’s chest.

“Did . . . did you feel that?” Makoto asks after a few more moments pass. “It felt like . . . like our souls physically connected.” He huffs a breathless laugh. “But that’s ridiculous, right?”

Haruka doesn’t reply, not sure what to say. It does sound ridiculous, but there can be no denying what he felt, and what Makoto had apparently felt as well.

“Well . . . even if it is ridiculous,” Makoto continues softly, running his fingers through Haruka’s hair gently. “I feel connected to you now more than ever. I love you, Haru. No matter what happens from now on, I’m going to stay by your side. I promise. I’ll never leave you again.”

Haruka feels the soft pressure of a light kiss on top of his head, and he closes his eyes, still feeling that sunlight surrounding him, bathing him in warmth and security.

_I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you’re mine._

It makes Haruka almost giddy, and he hides his smile in Makoto’s chest. Perhaps the gods truly had written their story in the stars, making their love eternal. If that was true, then Haruka decides he will do everything in his power to make sure he remains Makoto’s forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs awkwardly*
> 
> Yes, I wrote the lyrics to "My Love is a River." I give myself an A+ for the sappiness in that. (I'm such a hopeless romantic when it comes to MakoHaru I swear . . .) Next up will be the Hayato fic!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this little companion piece. I'm so blessed to have so many amazing readers. You are all so awesome and sweet and I don't deserve you. <3 Come give me a shout on my tumblr ([shions-heart](http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/)) if you want! I'm always eager to make new friends :)


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